Haunts
by Are Are
Summary: Strange apparitions descend upon Downton Abbey, rearranging furniture and lives- and, in the midst of it all, Thomas Barrow and Jimmy Kent begin to unravel their own mysteries.


The funny thing about it was- even though his heart felt as though it has been broken- still he dreamed of Lieutenant Courtenay.

It wasn't funny, actually, it was gruesome, or sad- alone in the rooms that he had earned, on his narrow bed, he shook with dreams: of the dying, of the dead, of blood-soaked trenches and influenza and shame, and indignity, and cowardice- and he would awake with a start, wounded but alive. Those nightmares, though, did not trouble him as the dreams with the blind Lieutenant did. He would awake with the curious feeling that they had spent all night together, even, perhaps, a lifetime together- and it would have all worked out, not been suspect- a blind man needs a helper, doesn't he? That they had grown old and let the seasons take them wherever, that they had been to foreign lands and toasted to their love under skies that were far from home.

"I'll never love anyone like I love you," Thomas told him one such dream. In real life he would have never been so bold, but in dreams with his companion he was always curiously loose lipped, and happily free.

"What about that Jimmy fellow?" The Lieutenant was pressed firmly against his arm as they navigated a path through the most fantastical forest- like something out of H.G. Wells- and Thomas thought of the other times that they had touched, how there had been a promise, never kept, of something more.

"Forget Jimmy. There's nothing to him. And he hates me."

"There's nobody who has _nothing_ to them," came his companion's thoughtful reply, and Thomas had a brief moment of lucidity in the dream world, remembering that Edward Courtenay was long since dead.

"I wish you hadn't done it," Thomas said, quietly. "I would've taken care of you. You wouldn't have had to be alone."

"Oh, miscommunication," the Lieutenant said. "It really is the stuff of great melodrama."

"I miss you, though," Thomas said, more insistently, bringing his eyes down to meet sightless ones, in a scarred but lovely face. A lovely face. Thomas had never seen lovelier, in waking or in dreams.

"You don't need to miss me," the Lieutenant said. "I'm here with you, aren't I?"

He _was_ there, at least, for a moment he was, as he had been for a moment or two in real life- but then Thomas woke, and was alone again.

* * *

"What's the matter with you?" Anna asked him, after breakfast. Bates, not exactly an enemy, but not exactly approving of his wife's choice in a bosom companion, either, did not come over to join the conversation.

"Nothing," Thomas said, dismissively. "Can't sleep."

How different Anna was from O'Brien- O'Brien, who had never let her brow crease with concern over Thomas's potential discomfort- but who had never failed to understand him, either. Anna was proper and a bit naive for all of her strength, and Thomas could not tell her how he had passionately romantic dreams where he and a dead man were lovers and soulmates- that his nights were an all-male revue of a tragic play. She would be quite shocked, and that made him tired, too. That what he wanted was really quite shocking. Sometimes he felt so weary of society that he could just scream.

All of this must have played out more on his face than he had thought, for Anna looked quite alarmed, and made to touch his arm. "_What_ is it?" She whispered, her voice thick with real concern.

"It doesn't matter," Thomas whispered back. "Sleepless night." And then, although he didn't mean to, he went on: "You're lucky, you know."

"I know," Anna said, with a small smile. "But how do you mean?"

"In the same way you mean it," Thomas said. "You get to have a perfect marriage to a chap you adore. You-" This was not a road he wanted to travel, and so he broke off and nodded at her stiffly. "I have work to be getting on with," He said, and left Anna looking after him, her mouth turned into a neat little frown.

As he took the stairs, Thomas heard the sound of breaking crockery from the kitchen, and Mrs. Patmore let loose a string of curses. "How did it just _fly_ off of the counter?" She thundered, and Thomas smirked, imagining one of the girls as an undeserving recipient of her wrath.

Upstairs daylight poured through the windows like water through a sieve. Carson was taking a rare day off for some personal reason that he had been typically close lipped about and so Thomas served at breakfast. He had done it several times in the year and a half since he had been raised to under butler, but he honestly dreaded the whole thing. Since Matthew Crawley had died, breakfast- and everything else- was a gloomy affair.

It seemed as though the one-two punch of Lady Sybil and Mr. Crawley's deaths had proved to be the knockout punch after all. Life went on, as it had when Patrick Crawley had died, but it was tainted, now- in every corner of every room and in the pause before every word was spoken, there was reverence for the dead. And reference _to_ the dead edged in on every conversation, until it seemed easier not to speak at all.

Lady Mary was difficult and refused to be roused, Thomas knew from gossip- and she scarcely ever made it down to the main floor by lunch (that one Thomas had noticed in his own course). At dinner she would be in attendance only perhaps half of the time, and other times would go for lengthy walks, sometimes taking her young son with her. She was becoming a creature of legend to the tenants of the village- a lean shade of a woman, sometimes with a pram, always in black, who haunted the little stone buildings of the township, and its open fields, and the cemetery. Particularly there. Thomas had no great love for the Crawleys- although what Lord Grantham had done for him touched his heart, and no mistake- but he _felt_ for the Lady, who seemed like she might die of a broken heart. In her manner she was still quite precise, snobbishly well-bred and with a hint of contempt- but her _manner _was all it was. A prolonged act. Thomas understood. There was only so much misery a soul could take.

He found that as he grew older, things upset him more than they had in his youth. Empathy. Sympathy. The plight of the unfortunates. Unrequited love. Things that left little weights upon his chest and made his breath hitch. It made him long for the unschooled wild bitterness of youth, the hardness that had blocked everything out.

But that day she made it to dinner after all, and she chatted pleasantly enough with her family, and Thomas watched Alfred and Jimmy serve with an imperious expression that came to him naturally and was not schooled after Carson's in any way.

"Something _strange_ is in the air of the house today, don't you feel it?" Lady Rose was saying animatedly to Branson, who had the look of a trapped animal as her eyes bore into his. "The _pictures_ were all turning sideways on their _hooks_ in my rooms this morning!"

"Perhaps the earth is moving," Lady Mary said, dryly.

Jimmy looked at Thomas for a moment, his gaze belying amusement, and Thomas looked back at him, barely changing his features in a subtle acknowledgement of it.

It was unexpected, but Jimmy had kept his word about their becoming friends. In the time since Thomas had taken the beating meant for him, Jimmy had been friendly with Thomas. The morning Thomas had been well enough to return to work, Jimmy had sat across the table from him (always across, and never touching- they were friends, but Jimmy always kept a meter at least between them) at breakfast quite pointedly, and talked to him pleasantly. Or, at least as pleasantly as was appropriate to a house thrown suddenly into darkest mourning.

The fact that they spoke to one another at all garnered raised eyebrows from all of the downstairs people who had been witness to the drama played out between them. Eventually Mrs. Hughes and Carson had decided that Jimmy, obviously manipulated by an outside force, was remorseful. Thomas could have told them it was true long before they had made their minds up about it- he could _feel_ that it was true, somehow. Even right after, underneath the digs Jimmy had gotten in about him- he had just been acting out of fear. Thomas knew it through and through- perhaps he'd spent so long watching Jimmy he'd developed a preternatural sense about his moods. But that was preposterous. He knew almost nothing more about Jimmy now, after months of camaraderie, than he had the day he'd started.

Then there was the other part of him, the old and canny part, that said that he was a lovesick fool, a silly man in the long line of silly men who had fallen for a pretty face. All void and no substance. Nothing to him. It was true, maybe- but if it was it didn't matter. Thomas had no mastery of his emotions. The way he spent his thoughts was nothing to any man, if he was sorry for his actions and did not repeat them. There was another thing, too: he _was _kinder, a little bit, if you looked for it. It could have been the kindness he was shown in the face of persecution. But he thought he owed it all to Jimmy, that contemptible old notion: you meet somebody, and they make you want to be a better person. You are transformed by love. So he got along, mostly, with everybody. He was tolerated if not beloved. He had friends.

Odd to think that his friends consisted of a woman he had been enemies with and a man who had loathed the sight of him, and his greatest enemy had once been his friend. Maybe it was strange to think that he _had_ friends at all, but he wasn't going to judge himself too harshly at this late date. He had 'improved himself', as Mrs. Crawley liked to say.

After the family had gone up for the night Thomas held sway in the servant's hall, enjoying the (temporary) thrill of being in charge. He didn't dismiss everybody to bed, as Carson made sure to do, usually at a reasonable hour- but they all straggled out anyways, slaves to the established pattern, until naught were left awake but Thomas, Jimmy, and Mrs. Hughes.

It was usually that way. Jimmy didn't seem to sleep much (Thomas tried not to dwell on the idea of Jimmy asleep, it brought up a dark path of memories that led to a slippery slope) and Thomas along with Carson and Mrs. Hughes had no one to tell them to go to bed. Uusually in the late evenings Thomas smoked and read the day's paper while Carson cloistered himself away in his office, working, and Jimmy played the piano at a quarter volume. Soft pieces were for late at night, with Jimmy's head bowed low over the keys, his fingers spilling out _sonatas _and _adagios,_ classical things that no one else heard him play.

The first few occasions they had spent time together of their own volition had been awkward on both sides, and even now little moments of discomfort would flare between them. After a bit Thomas had discovered the neat trick of sitting with his back to the piano. Not being able to glance up and see Jimmy (whose back invariably tensed as though he could feel that he was being watched) removed the temptation to _look_.

Tonight Jimmy sat and chatted with Mrs. Hughes until she, even, admitted defeat and got up to go to bed. "For goodness sakes' get some _rest_," She admonished them. "You know we're having Lord D'Abernon here the day after tomorrow, and Mr. Carson will breathe fire if we don't have everything perfect by tomorrow evening. Or _this_ evening, I should say."

"We won't let down the Ambassador, don't worry," Thomas said, half-smiling at her. Mrs. Hughes looked back at him with an expression that had not been in evidence for the first nine years of his employ, but which, after repeated appearance, Thomas had identified as 'fondness'. How strange, to have Mrs. Hughes be fond of him. He was not sure precisely what he had done to warrant it.

When she was away Jimmy rose and went to the piano. Thomas lit a cigarette and paused in his reading as the sweetness of the music reached him.

"That's lovely- what is it?" He asked, turning slightly in his seat when the music.

"That," Jimmy said, spinning around on the bench with an unaffected air of ease- "Is Chopin. Piano sonata number three- the _allegro maestoso_, to be specific. Ten minutes long, and _no_," He added, smugly, "I did _not_ read the sheet music for that one."

"You memorized it?" Thomas asked, smiling maybe a little too much- but then he remembered himself and turned back to his paper.

"Well," Jimmy said, "I may have improvised a little." There was a beat of silence and Thomas hoped that he would resume his playing, but Jimmy came round to sit across from him at the table. "Anything interesting happen today?"

Thomas flipped through the paper. "Egypt got its independence. Looks like a dry season so far. That's about it."

"Fascinating," Jimmy said, and Thomas looked up at him. Once he had stared at Jimmy freely- or almost as freely as a man of his leanings could ever do with anyone- but now eye contact was entirely on the other man's terms and it always gave Thomas a shock, like he'd dipped a toe into frigid waters.

Jimmy looked back at him placidly for a moment, and then rose. "I'm off. Sleep well, Mr. Barrow."

"And you," Thomas said.

After Jimmy had been convinced that Thomas was not going to attack him again- weeks into their mutual truce (actually, Thomas hadn't been at war, so it had been more a one-sided truce)- he had gone back to friendliness, to the agreeable manner which he had taken with Thomas- and everyone else, Thomas could see that now- upon his arrival. He was a flirt, and probably vain, and privately Thomas wondered if Jimmy didn't like it a little, to know that Thomas was nearly dying of love for him each time their eyes met. Just another flower for his boutinere, like Ivy and every other young woman who stepped within a hundred yards of him.

_But that's not fair_, Lieutenant Courtenay, symbol of all the things that would never happen, whispered to him. _He's trying to be kind. He feels bad about your situation._

Thomas knew that if he thought of the Lieutenant right before he slept, he would have dreams filled with the man, and probably with horrors and death, too, but he thought of him anyways. The promise of love, even if it was only in dreams, was so sweet.

As he rose, a single note sounded through the kitchen, as though a piano key had been depressed. There was no mistaking it, and Thomas reeled around, looking to see what had made the noise. But then the room was silent and still.

_Maybe pianos are alive, as clocks are_, Thomas thought. A change in temperature, a sticky key... he waited for to it to happen again, and when it did not, he took himself off to bed.

* * *

Jimmy slept very deeply and not for overly long, as was his usual, but found himself besieged by unusually vivid dreams. His father loomed over him, so distant that his face was lost in clouds, and his legs on the bench were larger than the trunks of trees. Down came his hands, fingers alighting with preternatural talent on the piano, as Jimmy watched in admiration.

He tried to pick out a simple tune, to please his father, but his fingers were too small and would not obey him, and from above him came his father's laugh- so big that it seemed it could fill cathedrals. "That's just fine, Jimmy," He said, and by the time that Jimmy remembered the opening to Clair de Lune his father had vanished along with the piano, and he was alone for a second on a war-torn battlefield that he remembered all too well, before the scene changed again, and he, still quite alone, found himself in a long corridor.

"Is anyone there?" He asked, feeling the kind of fear that you can only truly experience in dreams. The end of the hall was lost in darkness, and he could hear someone breathing raggedly. Without him wishing it, his feet carried him into the darkness, where a shape lay, sprawled in a corner.

It was Thomas. "Mr. _Barrow_,"he gasped, kneeling down. "What's _happened_?"

Thomas looked back at him, his skin so pale that it had a purplish tint to it. His face was quite destroyed, and his hands fluttered over his chest, grasping at a dark spot that spread slowly across his clothes. He looked up, his gaze finding Jimmy and holding him there. "Jimmy..." he ground out, with great effort- "Jimmy, _run!_"

Jimmy lifted his hands- to help Thomas, to comfort him, anything- and saw that they were covered in blood. A knife, loosely clasped in his right fist, fell to the floor, and he stared at it in blank horror. "I didn't..." He said, slowly, but Thomas only looked back at him- the light in his eyes beginning to dim- with a strangely tranquil expression. "Run, Jimmy," He said, again, his voice cracking at the last, and then he was still.

* * *

"_No!"_

Jimmy bolted upright as his alarm clock rang, and fumbled with it, knocking it off of his nightstand in the process. He was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, and the contents of his dream were fading already, though not at much as he might wish them to.

He dressed quickly and pulled himself into a semblance of tidiness (enough to keep Carson off his back, certainly) before making it down to the kitchens. There seemed to be an unusual amount of chaos, perhaps because of the Ambassador's much anticipated Saturday visit. Someone was crying in Mrs. Hughes' office, but Jimmy couldn't see who- the door was mostly shut, and the soothing murmur of the Housekeeper's voice could be heard, counterpointing the girl's high sobs. Breakfast was in full swing, and he took a seat. After a few moments Thomas came in- Jimmy's eyes traced over him to make sure that he was not, in fact, mortally wounded- and took the seat opposite his, fixing his uniform as he sat. Thomas, ever since they had come to their understanding, kept at least a meter away from him at all times. It was almost too much, how careful he was never to get into Jimmy's space, as though he would scream fire if they accidentally touched elbows. And he had never touched him again, or even come close to it, if you didn't count Thomas shoving him out of the way of muggers.

"Good morning, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy said, passing him a plate heaped with toast.

"James," Thomas said cordially. At the far left of the table O'Brien's eyebrows raised ever so slightly at the exchange- she never let a phrase between them go by without making some snide face. Jimmy had been horrified, when they had first been friends, that she was insinuating something unsavory was between them, but eventually he realized that he shouldn't care- he did his best to ignore her, as did everybody else.

"Who's that crying?" Jimmy asked Thomas, but he shook his head. "Don't know what it's about."

"It's Ivy," Anna replied, passing a pitcher of milk to Bates. "Only somebody went into her room last night and strewed her things everywhere. I mean _everywhere_. It was an awful mess."

"Did she sleep through it?" Alfred asked, immediately filled with concern.

"She says yes, but I don't see how," Anna answered. "It was quite a sight. Books torn open and pages strewn eveywhere, clothes hanging from the lanterns, her family picture smashed on the ground-"

"Do they know who did it?" O'Brien asked, her face taut with what Jimmy could only identify as morbid curiosity.

"No, but we can all expect a talking to," Anna said. "Carson's not happy."

"Do _you_ know who it was, Miss O'Brien?" Bates asked suddenly, leveling her with a glance. It was a statement said lightly, and yet Bates made it sound just a little bit accusatory.

"I have me theories, and that's all they are," O'Brien answered him, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly but her eyes staying exactly the same.

"I'm sure," Bates said, reaching for a newspaper.

"Perhaps it was ghosts," Jimmy volunteered, smiling. "Lady Rose said that all of the pictures in her room were crooked on their hooks yesterday morning. She thinks there is something _strange_ in the air."

His words bordered on insolence, but Thomas shot him an amused glance.

"Well,_ I _don't think it's funny," O'Brien said, and Jimmy felt himself tense.

"I wasn't-"

"Leave off him," Thomas said to her, a little sharply, and her eyes flew up to meet his.

"That's good advice," She answered, and hostility flashed between them like daggers. "I wonder if you would-"

Then Carson came striding in and everybody rose, cutting off the rest of whatever O'Brien had meant to say. Everybody rose in a clatter of chairs and Carson nodded gruffly for them to sit, but he himself remained standing.

"What I have to say is very unfortunate," the butler began in a dark voice. "_Someone_ in this house has destroyed the private property of one of their compatriots." Storm clouds gathered above Carson's brow, his voice turned thunderous. "I would like the guilty party to come forward _immediately_."

Jimmy watched him, transfixed. Nobody said anything for several beats, until Carson barked at them . "Come _on_ now, out with it! I want to know who did it and I want to know _WHY_!"

At the exact instant that Carson boomed the last word of his sentence- almost as if his voice had caused it to happen- everything on the wooden table flew into the air, as if someone with great strength had slammed their fists down on the tabletop. Jimmy watched blankly as his breakfast leapt up and crashed back down. Toast scattered like rain. Eggs mixed with pieces of broken crockery. Jimmy heard an odd ringing sound and realized it was a plate rolling away across the floor, to come to rest beside the piano. Milk dumped out of a pitcher and made a white lake on the table. Jimmy saw O'Brien right the pitcher, her face pale. Bates had jumped to his feet with a spryness that seemed impossible for a crippled man, and he had one arm against Anna, pushing her away from the table as though it were a dangerous animal. Thomas rose to his feet too, and Jimmy saw that before Thomas looked anywhere else, he looked over at him- as if to make sure that he was all right- and then his eyes moved quickly away.

Carson, for an instant, appeared to be speechless. _Perhaps the earth is moving, _Jimmy thought involuntarily, and flipped his cup back over. It had been cracked, but not broken.

"What was _that_?" Mrs. Hughes said, hurrying in. Ivy, her face woefully tearstained, came after her, and when she saw the table she shrieked. "It's just like my _room_! Oh, what is _happening_?"

"Stop your hysterics immediately," Carson said. He seemed to have gotten over the shock. "Somebody bumped into the table, that is all. The only thing we should be upset about is broken dishes and wasted food. Now help clean this up."

"What on earth is going on?" Mrs. Patmore came up behind Mrs. Hughes and a still-crying Ivy.

"With all due respect, Mr. Carson," Bates said, still holding Anna, "I do not think _that_ was caused by someone 'bumping into the table'."

Carson looked at him as though he had spat in the very face of the Dowager Countess. "And how _would_ you explain it, sir?" He replied, his tone thoroughly affronted.

"I _can't_ explain it," Bates answered.

Thomas retrieved the plate from under the piano. "We don't need to be getting superstitious about it, Mr. Bates," He said, with more than a hint of a smirk. Jimmy had heard from gossip that Thomas's disagreeableness had once been legendary, and he could catch a little glimpse of it in the animosity that sometimes passed between him and Bates. It was interesting, to think of Thomas before they had met.

They all cleaned up the mess in silence. There was something off-putting about it, and by the time they had finished, Jimmy no longer had an appetite.

He caught Thomas in on the stairs before dinner, and stepped to the side with him, breaking Thomas's preference of the meter distance for the sake of keeping his voice very quiet.

"What do you suppose that was, earlier?" He asked.

"I don't know," Thomas answered. He looked pained, a little- his mouth quirked into the beginning of a tight smile the way it sometimes did when they spoke. Jimmy had often thought that it was an indication of discomfort, and took a respectful step back.

"It was the strangest thing I've ever seen in my life-" Jimmy pressed. He felt anxious, and could not properly say why. "And Ivy's room- and that vase falling during tea-"

"The vase was just balanced wrongly."

"But you must admit-" Jimmy paused as Alfred passed by them. "It's odd, isn't it?"

Thomas looked at him and relented, his expression softening ever so slightly. "Yes. It is odd."

Then he turned to continue upstairs. "We'll talk about it tonight," he said, over his shoulder. His voice was neutral. Jimmy wondered if Thomas tried to make it sound that way when they spoke with one another, so that he wouldn't infer anything inappropriate in it.

The strange events of the day stirred within him a new resolve: he must tell Thomas tonight that he was over all that- no matter how uncomfortable the subject might make them both- so that he could stop trying so hard not to be friendly. They were friends, after all, and that was nothing you could be imprisoned for.

_But_ _suppose it isn't that_, His mind supplied, as he went down the stairs. _Suppose it's because he's still in love with you, and doesn't want to show it?_

Jimmy felt his stomach twist. He did feel very badly for Thomas, now, and not just with the remorse of a guilty party. He didn't think Thomas had chosen his lot, or would have, if he had been given a choice. And it was a sorry fate, of course, but Jimmy- who knew himself best of anyone- was certain that the sorriest fate he could imagine for a soul would be to get stuck loving _him_.

_There's no reward in that_, he thought.

They didn't talk about breakfast or the vase or any of it, though. Thomas sat facing away from him and Jimmy's hands rolled restlessly over the piano until he couldn't bear it anymore and went to sit at the table. Curls of smoke from Thomas's cigarette broke around him in the air. The tobacco smelled sweet mixed in with the other smells of downstairs.

"Go to bed," Carson told them, as he left his office for the night. "I mean it," He added, before disappearing to his rooms. "The Ambassador arrives on the morrow."

"You don't say," Thomas muttered, without looking up from his paper. Jimmy choked back a laugh. "Anything interesting happen today?" He asked, indicating the paper.

"No, not today," Thomas answered. "Today everything interesting happened at Downton."

"That's true enough," Jimmy said, taking a match from Thomas's box and lighting it with the nail of his thumb. Thomas glanced up while he did it- he had seen Jimmy do that and all number of other tricks his father had taught him- and then back down.

There was another beat of silence, and Jimmy blew out the match, dropped it, and ran his fingers through his hair tiredly. "Did I- I mean... _am _I- is it my fault that you and O'Brien hate each other?" He asked.

He hadn't meant to ask it- it verged dangerously close on the border of things they'd rather not discuss- and Thomas's eyes flew up from the paper. Jimmy felt a sort of satisfaction at having Thomas give him his full attention without pretense, and then felt a flicker of guilt at the satisfaction- and then met Thomas's singular eyes and felt only trepidation.

Thomas looked at him expressionlessly for a short moment, and then said stiffly, "No. O'Brien is the reason O'Brien and I hate each other." He paused, as if he would not say more, but then finished. "I suppose it's my fault as much as hers. But it's no fault of yours, Jimmy. She used you, that's all."

"Used me against you, you mean," Jimmy said.

Thomas dropped his gaze to his hands, which busied themselves with lighting another cigarette, and Jimmy realized that he had embarrassed the other man. "She's a lovely person," Jimmy said in a nonchalant tone, trying to break the tension which had settled between them. "A real darling. A _sweetheart_. And so much fun at parties."

Thomas cracked a halfhearted smile. "I'd best be off, then." He hadn't even smoked half of his new cigarette. Jimmy waved his hands. "No, wait a moment, let's play a hand or two."

Thomas hesitated, almost standing- but then he settled back down and nodded.

They played four hands and each won two. Before the deal-breaker round Jimmy suggested sleep. He liked it better that way, he thought, that neither of them had lost.

They rarely went up at the same time and so it was strange to pause outside of Thomas's door in the dark. As Jimmy said "Goodnight-" he reached out, gesturing with his fingers, and brushed his hand against Thomas's hand by accident. He felt Thomas reflexively recoil as they touched.

"-goodnight, Mr. Barrow," he continued, as though nothing unusual had happened. Thomas only nodded, his face dipped in shadow, and firmly closed his door, leaving Jimmy to go to his room and to his fitful dreams.

* * *

In his dreams,

Lieutenant Courtenay walked out of the night and into Thomas's arms like a man who could see. "Hello," Thomas said, embracing him.

But Courtenay looked up at him without speaking, and Thomas saw that his eyes were not sightless after all, and that his face was not the face of a dead man.

"Who are you?" he asked, alarmed, for though he knew the face, he could not place the name.

"I don't know who I am," said the stranger, dipping his head. His hair flashed gold, and in the flash of it Thomas saw the flash of a name. "Jimmy," he said.

"I don't know _who_ I am," said Jimmy, "But I'm trying-" His hand reached up to press against Thomas's shoulder. "I'm trying to figure it out," he said, and reached up. Thomas felt the brush of fingertips against his ear, and Jimmy leaned back, holding out his hand. A gold coin gleamed there. "Penny for your thoughts," Jimmy whispered and leaned up, to kiss him on the cheek.

* * *

The morning went flawlessly, and everyone lined up outside to greet Lord D'Abernon with nothing but the greatest poise. He was let out of his car- (Thomas privately thought that he looked like a statelier sort of old Saint Nicholas) and, along with his wife- who had once supposedly been a renowned beauty but now was merely old- exchanged long winded pleasantries with Lord and Lady Grantham.

It was only as they walked in that he caught the eye of Lord D'Abernon's valet- a thin, well-bred looking man about his own age. It was unintentional, he had simply been looking up to make sure that Jimmy and Alfred weren't making a spectacle of themselves with the luggage- but when their eyes met the valet had stared back at him with a frankness that communicated a clear message- and, if that were not enough, tipped a wink at Thomas, his mouth curving into a wry smile.

_Do I dare?_ Thomas thought, as they moved in what appeared to be a household's worth of luggage. _After what happened, do I ever dare to do it again?_

He didn't know. The clubs in London were supposed to be much safer, and one of the benefits of his status was the ability to ask for time off and actually be awarded it. He thought perhaps he would stick to the clubs.

The valet, whose name, annoyingly enough, was Alfred- but who made up for it a little by telling everyone to call him Fred- sat right next to Thomas when all was done for the evening. He was likable, and amused everyone by telling stories of what it was like to live in Germany. "But my Lord loves the Germans, he won't say a word against them," he said, and asked after current affairs in England, bemoaning the loss of his native land. He did not turn obviously to smile at Thomas, but Thomas could feel the man's attention on him, just the same.

Jimmy, sitting across from Thomas, had seemed tired and withdrawn all day. Now he looked slowly back and forth between Thomas and the valet in a way that made Thomas profoundly uncomfortable. What if he suspected? If he did, then undoubtedly O'Brien did. No. Better not to chance it, he reasoned. Even if it had been so long.

Under the table Fred's hand found his knee and gave it a brief squeeze and he chatted on with Anna and Bates about their cottage or some dull thing, and Thomas flushed, looking nonchalantly at nothing much, until he realized, with a start, that he was looking directly into Jimmy's face. Jimmy looked back at him, his expression bordering on concern.

"D'ya fancy a game of cards?" Jimmy asked Thomas. People were beginning to straggle out. Thomas answered at smoothly as he could. "Yes. That would be fine."

"Deal me in, too," Bates said, surprising him. "One hand, and then Anna and I have to be getting on."

Fred got up, giving Thomas's leg one last touch, and went to the piano. "Let's liven up the mood, shall we," he said gaily, and began to play a cheery tune, singing along to it in a surprising baritone.

"_Oh, sweet Dardanella, I love your harem eyes,_" Fred sang, as Jimmy dealt out their hands._ "I'm a lucky fellow to capture such a prize, Oh, Allah knows my love for you_-"

His voice was so clear and his playing so sweet that at the end of the hand (Bates had neatly won) Thomas turned around to look at him. "You sing very nicely," He said, and Fred finished the song with a flourish and turned to face him, his eyes shining merrily under a crop of dark hair that was coming loose from its pomade. "And I play very nicely, too," He replied, with a laugh in his voice. For a second they sat looking at one another, the moment quite suspended. _Do I dare?_ Thomas thought. His skin tingled as though cold air had been blown across it, and he wondered if he had about him the strength he would need to refuse.

"We're off," Bates said, but Anna touched Thomas on the shoulder on the way out, and asked "You quite sure you're alright?" In an undertone. Thomas nodded at her. "Positive. See you on the morrow. Make sure you don't trip over the Ambassador on your way out."

Anna laughed and exited with her husband, and then it was only Thomas and Fred in the hall- and Jimmy, who was still across from him, making no indication to leave. Thomas looked over at him, and Fred turned back to the piano.

Jimmy was staring- not at him, but past him, to Fred, who was singing again with happy abandon.

_"I`m just wild about Harry," _Fred sang, his fingers flying over the keys- "_And Harry's wild about me- the heavenly blisses of his kisses fill me with ecstasy-"_

Jimmy's mouth had fallen open at the song, and he shut it quickly under Thomas's gaze. _So_, Thomas thought, feeling profoundly uncomfortable._ He has noticed something, after all. _No surprise- Jimmy would be more than familiar with the signs, considering how Thomas had thrown himself at him.

But it was strange. Jimmy took a breath and composed his features- Thomas acted at though he had not been looking- and then dealt another hand out to them. "All these haunts in Downton lately," he said, shuffling his cards like a showman. "I could stay up all night."

Thomas smirked at him. "Don't be daft. It was just coincidence."

"Everything _floating_ off the table, that was coincidence?" Jimmy asked.

"I don't know what that was," Thomas allowed. "It happened very quick. Perhaps we saw it wrongly."

"One morning you'll just wake up and actually have _become_ Mr. Carson, and that will be the end of it," Jimmy grumbled. "Go on, tell me someone _nudged_ the table or something."

"I didn't say that either," Thomas said. "You look terrible, Jimmy. Have you slept?"

It was an overly intimate thing to ask, and Thomas shut his mouth immediately, certain that Jimmy would recall things that were best not recalled. It was so difficult to always remember how he should behave, when it contrasted so sharply with how he felt. Thomas felt (had always felt, really, but more acutely now, when he was trapped every day, looking at something he loved and could never have-) the pain of a caged animal. Perhaps he would go with Fred, after all.

But Jimmy did not take affront. "Barely," He answered. "I've been having awful dreams. Can I have a cigarette?"

That was odd, too. Thomas took one out and laid it on the table, so that their fingers would not brush accidentally as he handed it to him. Jimmy lit it with a flourish and stared glumly at his cards.

Thomas thought it would be too forward to ask what his dreams were about, but Jimmy answered the unasked question of his own volition: "Somebody keeps dying, and I can't save 'em. No matter what I do. I try a new way every night, but- they- just keep dying." Jimmy's brow creased at the memory.

"Sounds like war dreams," Thomas said.

"Feels like it, too," Jimmy said. The cigarette burned almost to nothing in his hand, unsmoked. Now he took a drag off of it, coughing lightly.

"You got a fag for me, too?" Fred had finished another round of songs, and flopped down in the chair next to Thomas's, hand outstretched, a teasing smile on his lips.

Thomas could feel Jimmy looking at them. "Certainly," he said, smiling, and handed a cigarette to Fred. _Their_ fingers brushed as he collected it, and Thomas felt a spark go through his hand. To hell with what Jimmy thought, he decided suddenly. Jimmy knew what he was, and this shouldn't surprise him anymore than it would Thomas if _he _saw Jimmy out chasing girls. Maybe it would even be a relief to him- he might think Thomas had moved on from his hopeless love. If Jimmy believed that was so, it could ease some of the awkwardness between them, improve their friendship a bit.

Fred blew smoke rings into the air, tilting his pointed profile towards the ceiling as he did it. "Works a bit better with a cigar," He said, wistfully, breaking one particularly perfect ring apart with his fingers.

"Where'd you learn that?" Jimmy asked, in a tone that Thomas didn't recognize from him. It was odd: he had thought that he knew all of Jimmy's tones, had collected them from listening to what he said with such rapt attention.

"My mother," Fred said, pulling his chair a little closer to Thomas's. "Oh, you're going to lose, anyway," he said more quietly, looking at Thomas's cards over his shoulder. "So give up and deal me in."

"Your _mother_?" Jimmy asked, incredulously. He looked at Thomas, as if to confirm that the man was insane. Thomas threw down his hand. "I give up. Jimmy, deal him in."

"Yeah, my _mother_," Fred said, laughing. "My folks are a bit bohemian. Mum was in show business, dad was a middleweight boxing champion. They didn't care about any wild thing I did, growing up- but they were horrified when I announced I was goin' into service." He drew himself up in his chair, seeming not to notice that his hand was resting against Thomas's arm- and did an impression of what could have only been his father, making his voice gravelly. "What do mean you want a _respectable career,_ Alfred?" He said, his brows drawn down in a disapproving grimace. "Why would you want to wait on wretched members of the _upper_ class_,_ Alfred, when we could all form a song and dance troupe together?"

It was too much, and Thomas threw back his head an laughed- a real laugh of genuine amusement. "A common story told in reverse," he said, when he was done laughing, and that set Fred off as well. Jimmy sat across the table from them and looked on as though they were a pair of lunatics.

"Can we begin, or what?" Jimmy asked, with a slight edge to his voice. This made Fred practically go into hysterics. He doubled over, laughing, and rested his hand high up against Thomas's inner thigh. Thomas felt a twist in his stomach, and the beginning of a slow burn of desire. _Yes_, he thought_, I think I _do_ dare._

"Actually," the valet said, straightening up abruptly, "I don't think I'll take you up on that game after all. I'm bushed." He paused, his dark eyes locking with Thomas's, and said casually. "All this traveling does make one so tired. And always waking up in a new place. Can you remind me, Mr. Barrow, what room I am staying in?"

Without altering his expression Thomas said "Fourth door on the left."

"Thank you," Fred said, and got up. "Mr. Kent," He said cordially. Jimmy responded only with a nod, and Fred sauntered out, with a spring in his step.

Now it was Thomas alone with Jimmy, and though he sometimes felt as though he lived only for these tentative evenings between them, Thomas wanted to go upstairs. Jimmy's face was turned down, and his gold-toned hands worked to undo the knot of his tie.

"I'll be off, too," He said, as nonchalantly as he could, and Jimmy's head shot up. He looked straight into Thomas's eyes with his, and Thomas had to push back the feeling that would still occasionally overwhelm him. Lovely. He was so lovely.

"Are you going to go to his room?" Jimmy asked, in a strange flat voice. Thomas faltered, pinned by the weight of his stare. He could feel his mouth twitch into an uncomfortable smile, and he smoothed out his expression. A beat of silence passed between them.

"Not," Thomas said, his voice cracking on the word, "If you think it's a bad idea."

"Of _course _I do!" Jimmy almost shouted, his face contorting. Thomas was taken aback by the savagery in his tone.

"I know you don't _like_ it," Thomas said, feeling the color rise in his cheeks, "But it _is _how I am. And-"

"That's not why!" Jimmy interrupted him, speaking more passionately than Thomas ever had heard him speak about anything. "It's just- it's just too _dangerous_. You've gotten in trouble already. And suppose O'Brien finds out?"

"Do you think O'Brien is in the habit of sneaking around the men's hall?" Thomas asked. His voice sounded even enough, although his head was spinning.

Jimmy shook his head. "I think she _belongs_ in the bloody men's hall," he muttered. "But it's still too dangerous. What if... what if you're wrong about him?"

"I'm not wrong this time," Thomas said, sharply. He felt stung. Jimmy was looking at him with the strangest expression- part wariness and part something else.

"I'm sorry, I suppose that was rather unpleasant of me," Jimmy said, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck in a disarming gesture. "I just... value our friendship, Mr. Barrow. Thomas. I wouldn't want to see anything happen to you."

"Thank you, Jimmy," Thomas said, stiffly. They sat quietly for a few long moments, and then Jimmy straightened up. His tie hung loose around his neck.

"Stay down here with me," Jimmy said, measuredly, "And I'll play you a _proper_ tune, and we can talk. And for god's sake turn your chair around, won't you? I feel like I'm playing to the bloody walls."

Thomas had not a single thought he could have articulated. He nodded, and Jimmy rose. He sat at the bench, and Thomas slowly turned his chair around.

Jimmy cracked his knuckles and pressed his fingers to the keys. The piece he had played before- the Chopin- came quietly into the room, to fill it up.

"That's my favorite," Thomas said, quietly, and Jimmy nodded without pausing.

The strains of music wove around Thomas as though sound could be a tangible thing, and he felt bolstered up by it, though he could not understand why. The music was unbearably sweet, more so even than it had been the first time he had heard it, and he could look at Jimmy freely, because Jimmy had asked him to. Even if he had not asked for the reasons that Thomas looked. His back moved as he went up and down the keys, and his hair flickered like a light.

And then, just as the sounds and sights had almost lulled him completely, Jimmy's necktie slipped free from his neck- Thomas anticipated its falling and had almost leaned forward to pick it up- but the tie never fell. Jimmy stopped his hands and turned, but to Thomas it seemed as if the music went on without him.

The necktie- a thin, black ribbon of silk- was winding slowly through the air. It danced to the strains of the sonata, moving of its own accord. Thomas watched it, motionless. Jimmy's eyes had grown wide as saucers. He tried to speak- Thomas saw his throat working- but made no sound.

The tie went up over Thomas's head- and fell, suddenly, as the final notes of the sonata sounded- to rest neatly around his neck. Thomas flinched, and grasped at it, pulling it away from himself as though it were a venomous snake.

"My god," Jimmy said, hollowly. "The piano kept on playing, but I wasn't touching it. I wasn't touching it."

"It did that the other night, too," Thomas said. He held his hand out between them, with the tie between his fingers, as far away from him as possible.

"Just one note, though." He amended. He felt like he was back in the trenches. There was an old familiar ringing in his ears.

Jimmy laughed weakly. "Did you _see_ that?" he asked. He reached out to take his tie from Thomas, and instead of pulling it back, he let his fingers press into Thomas's, with the tie between them.

"What does it mean?" Jimmy asked, his voice a mixture of fear and wonder. Thomas could only shake his head. "I don't know. I can't believe it happened."

Their hands were still touching. Jimmy pulled the tie from between the unworking fingers of his injured hand, slowly, and tucked it away into his pocket. Then he stood up. "I want to go up. That gave me a fright."

"Yes," Thomas agreed, to both statements. They took leave of the kitchen as if spirits were after them. And, Thomas thought, for the first time since all this strangeness had began, perhaps they _were._

Jimmy paused at Thomas's door when he bade him good night, and stood before him, not moving. "I won't sleep at all tonight," he whispered, rubbing his temple with his fingertips. Thomas wanted to take him in his arms and comfort him, but he was certain that _that_ would not be received well. He tried to put on a good face, and whispered back. "Not to fear, Jimmy. Nothing's really done anybody any harm, has it?"

"All the same," Jimmy said, reaching into his pocket, "Will you take my tie for me? I don't want to be in the same room with the thing."

Thomas smiled, and took it from him, tucking it into his own pocket. But still Jimmy lingered in front of him, his expression clouded. Suddenly he leaned forward- closer than he had ever voluntarily gotten to Thomas before- and clasped his hands around Thomas's arm for a moment, squeezing tightly.

"I'm very grateful to you," Jimmy whispered, staring down to where his hands met the cloth of Thomas's sleeve. "For how you do look after me, Mr. Barrow."

Then he withdrew his hands and stepped back, turning away. Thomas watched him go into his room, and then turned to go to bed himself.

In his room he first locked the necktie in a drawer where it could not- escape?- and then undressed, turning the strange evening over in his mind. The valet. Still waiting for him, perhaps. Well, he would wait all night. Thomas bolted his door and leaned against it for a moment, feeling as though he had been in a fight. The necktie. They had both seen it. A shared hallucination? Thomas had heard of such things. It would have a logical explanation, of course, that you could never see unless you were outside of it- like something from a Sherlock Holmes story.

And Jimmy had acted so strange- well, but that was fear, and Thomas wasn't going to read anything into it. He had learned his lesson well enough already. Still, he thought, as he climbed into his bed- you couldn't deny a man his thoughts.

He thought of Jimmy as he would never be- as if the things he had inferred in those perfect eyes were true- and of Jimmy touching his hand, meeting his gaze, clasping his arm with both hands. That was almost enough to undo him. And then he thought of things that would never happen- Jimmy kissing him back- his soft lips pliant and willing- Jimmy pressed against him. Jimmy moaning. How he would feel. How he would taste. It was never enough. Thomas had thought of him like this a thousand times, and, despite his best attempts at resolve, he would think of him again a thousand more. He knew it. It was too much to bear, his obsession- it was like having a piece of your being always removed from you. As though you were a part of another person.

Thomas pressed his mouth against the wrist of his injured hand so that he made no sound- not even the smallest of his jagged breaths escaped him. He imagined himself against Jimmy- inside Jimmy- and the trail of his imaginings fell down down down, past completion, and into sleep.

* * *

Jimmy was walking on a thin bar of sand that got narrower and narrower, with dark waves lapping at both sides. For some reason he felt an-all consuming fear of the ocean around him- it seemed a malevolent being, as though it wanted to snatch him up and carry him away. He followed the soldier in front of him as though his life depended on it- and perhaps it did- until the sand bar ended and they were spat out at the mouth of a jungle, the surf but a distant memory.

"We made it," he gasped, and the soldier turned to face him. "Thank you, sir-" Jimmy stopped, drawing a deep breath. The soldier's face was disfigured. His eyes were white orbs that could see nothing, and a lacelike web of scars spread out from them onto his cheeks. He was blind, Jimmy knew without a fraction of a doubt. But then how had he walked, with such confidence, far enough to lead them across the terrible ocean?

The soldier's lips curved up in a smile, and he pointed one finger towards the jungle. Jimmy shuddered at his gaze. "You should remember that true beauty comes from within," The soldier said- the tagline of a thousand dull parables. "Yeah, sure," Jimmy said, turning away from him- but then the soldier grasped him roughly by the shoulder and dragged him into the jungle. Jimmy shouted and struggled with him, and then he realized that the leaves had given way to plaster walls, and that he was in Thomas's bedroom.

"Shh," the soldier said, and pushed him roughly towards the vanity. "Look at yourself. See what you really are."

Jimmy stood in front of the vanity mirror and saw his face- but his eyes were white and milky, horrible to look at, and his face ran with scars. "_Augh_," He moaned, reaching one hand up to touch his own brow- "What have you done to me? What have you _done_ to me?! _Tell _me!"

The blind soldier smiled at him with a terrible smile. "I wear the chain I forged in life...I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it."

"_What_?!" Jimmy asked, frantically, though he knew the phrase from somewhere- but then the soldier reached out one hand, and a kind of awful stillness came over him. "Look," he said to Jimmy, pointing. The room had stretched out, become impossibly large, and Jimmy could see the bed in a far distant corner, and a huddled shape under the blankets.

His mind to told him to run and his legs gave into the instinct- it seemed he ran for days, getting closer to the occupant of the cot only by the barest increments- until, finally, hours or seconds after he had begun, he came stuttering to a halt.

The sheets of the bed were soaked in blood. Jimmy's heart raced, and he could barely force himself to draw back the quilt.

"Thomas," He said, and Thomas slowly opened his eyes. He had both his hands pressed to a wound on his chest. "Jimmy," He said, quietly, and smiled, as though nothing in the world could possibly be wrong. His teeth were splashed with flecks of blood. "You best run, Jimmy," He said, hoarsely.

"No, don't _tell_ me to run," Jimmy said, and ran his hands over Thomas's pale face. "I'm not leaving you."

"If you don't run," Thomas said, his voice cracking. "If you don't _run_, what was I doing it for?"

"I-" Jimmy fumbled around, lost for words. Thomas's eyes were fluttering closed, and his breath was getting shallower- but still he held that peculiar smile on his face, as though he did not want to upset Jimmy with his dying.

"No, no, no," Jimmy said, and leaned forward, pressing his mouth to Thomas's cheek. Thomas took a shuddering breath- (was it his imagining, or was there less blood now?) and, encouraged, Jimmy kissed him again, on his mouth. Thomas kissed him back, carding his hands though Jimmy's hair, and the blood and the bedroom fell away, and they _were_ in the jungle after all, with vines making a sanctuary around them. And then Thomas kissed him again and again, and Jimmy kissed him back, until Jimmy's heart raced like it would break free of his chest and he said only "Please, please, Thomas, _ please-"_

* * *

Jimmy shot bolt upright in bed, ten minutes before his alarm was meant to go off. He staggered out of bed and almost tripped over his book, stumbling blearily to the washbasin.

His body was tense, and different memories keyed up different types of alarm- the crashing table, the floating necktie, Thomas and the valet, what he had done in his dream-

He cut that line of thinking off quickly and dressed himself. He looked well enough in the mirror, but there were signs of strain- his normally smooth face held little dark hollows under the eyes, and his mouth was tight.

He eyed the book on the floor- a collection of Dickens that had belonged to his mother. He had been reading it the night before, unable to sleep- but sleep had claimed him eventually, and here it lay. He eyed it with distaste and picked it up, tossing it onto his bed. It fell open to the page he had left off at last night- the scene in _A Christmas Carol_ where Marley confronted old Scrooge. _"I wear the chain I forged in life..."_

Jimmy shook his head firmly. "That's quite enough of that," He said, and left his room.

Breakfast was a strange affair. Bates and Anna were not there. That annoying valet- the _other_ Alfred- sat beside Thomas again, chattering to the table- but Thomas paid neither him nor Jimmy any mind, being himself lost in the pages of a book. "What are you reading, Mr. Barrow?" He asked, when he did not get his usual _'Good Morning, Jimmy.' _Thomas looked at him over the edge of the cover. "_The Age of Innocence_," He said, and quickly looked back at the page. Jimmy felt a little bit crestfallen.

"I'm reading the Fu Manchu stories, myself," the other Alfred declared. Jimmy ignored him. "They're not exactly highbrow, but-"

All of a sudden O'Brien came walking- no, came _running_ into the hall. Jimmy had never seen her move so fast. He blinked as she stopped in the doorway, taking in the oddest sight he had seen lately- and that was saying a _lot_, considering that he felt half out of his mind with all the strange goings on. O'Brien's hair was loose as he had never seen it- making her look, Jimmy thought, a good deal younger but no less ugly- and she was still in her dressing gown. Her _dressing gown_! It would have been more likely to see her fly through the night or walk on the surface of the moon.

"Miss O'Brien," Mrs. Hughes said, before Carson could make a comment about her inappropriate state of dress, "What is the matter?"

"It's-" O'Brien stopped herself, clearly aware that all eyes were on her. She lowered her voice. "Could you come with me for a moment, Mrs. Hughes?" She asked, and then turned abruptly and walked out of the hall. Mrs. Hughes followed her, bewilderment evident on her face.

Jimmy looked over to Thomas to get his reaction, but Thomas was still face-deep in his book, apparently having missed the entire display.

Daisy came into the room to set down a plate of toast- all the plates they ate off of downstairs were tragically mismatched at the moment, with so many having been broken- and Jimmy noticed that her face was puffy, as though she had been crying. "What's the matter, Daisy?" He asked, making his voice as kind as he could. Daisy looked back at him, blinking. "It's- oh, it's nothing," She said, hurriedly, picking up and empty pitcher, but Jimmy rose and followed her. "No, honestly," he pressed, taking in her haunted eyes- "You can tell me. What's the trouble, huh?"

"It's just..." Daisy paused, her eyes filling with tears. "I keep havin' the most- uh- _real -_like dreams."

Vivid dreams, check. Jimmy could certainly identify with that. Gently, he prompted her. "About what?"

"About William," Daisy said, miserably, and Jimmy's confusion must have showed on his face, because she added, "My husband."

"Oh, yes. The chap who played piano? He died in the war?"

"He died _here_, but it was the war that killed him," Daisy said. A few tears escaped from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, and Jimmy offered her his handkerchief. "There, there," He said, smiling gently at her. "Are they _frightening_ dreams?"

Daisy shook her head, wiping off her face. "Nah, not really, but they're _sad_. He just thanks me for taking such good care of his dad an' tells me how much he loved me, and how he..." She started crying in earnest now, her words coming through sobs. "An'... how he _hopes_... that I'll find _someone_ to love someday... the way he loved _me-_ an' that I did him a _kindness_-"

"What's this?" Mrs. Patmore said, emerging from the kitchens. She gave Jimmy a dangerous look. "What's going on?"

"Daisy had a dream about her husband," Jimmy said, patting the girl awkwardly on the shoulder.

"Oh," Mrs. Patmore said, mollified. She came round to look in Daisy's face. "It's alright, child," She said, gently. "Having a dream about someone just shows that you keep them in your heart, that's all. I dreamed of my nephew last night, myself, and it wasn't a bit sad- more like a happy dream-"

"But it's not just _one_ dream, it's been every night for three nights!" Daisy wailed, and buried her face against Mrs. Patmore's shoulder.

Jimmy took that as his cue to exit the scene, although Mrs. Patmore gave him a deathly look over Daisy's head- presumably for leaving her alone to deal with it- and he made his way back to kitchen. O'Brien and Mrs. Hughes still had not returned. The _other_ Alfred was telling _their_ Alfred a string of jokes that had the big lout cackling in merriment. Thomas sat, poring over his stupid book like it held the mysteries of the universe.

"Mr. Barrow, can I speak with you for a moment?" Jimmy asked. Thomas looked up- his expression unguarded for an instant- (_What_ in hell was he reading?) -and rose. "Certainly, James," he said, formally, and walked out of the room with him. They faced each other in the corridor, Thomas standing a bit stiffly.

"What can I help you with?" Thomas asked. Jimmy ignored his at-work manner and spoke in an insistent undertone. "I need you to answer me something. Have you been having strange dreams lately?"

For some reason Thomas's cheeks bloomed with color. He eyes found a spot on a distant wall and stayed there. "Not particularly," he answered. "Why?"

"Because _Daisy_ has. And Mrs. _Patmore _has. And _I_ have, too." Thomas was now arching his brow in with a look that clearly spoke of Jimmy's obvious insanity. "I mean it, Thomas," he hissed, his hands clenching into fists. "They're all dreaming of the dead- and so have I- my parents, mostly- but- there's this awful figure in my dreams. He haunts me. I wonder if he's haunting us all."

Thomas now had a look of unrivaled amusement on his face. "And tell me," He said, his smile appearing and disappearing- "Who is this spectral figure who's haunting your dreams and playing havoc with our crockery and neckties?"

"That's just it," Jimmy said, "I don't know him. But he's a soldier. And he's blind. He's got awful white eyes and a scarred face, and he-"

The amusement had slid off of Thomas's face and shattered into something else. His lips went quite white. Jimmy felt a spike of apprehension. "What?" he pressed, touching Thomas's arm. He touched it exactly as he had the night before, actually, and now as then he had no idea what compelled him to do it. "What is it?"

Thomas was utterly pale- and that was saying a bit, for him. He withdrew his arm from Jimmy's grasp quickly. "You don't need to be so familiar," Thomas said. His tone had turned biting, and Jimmy could not understand the sudden direction his mood had taken. "I don't appreciate it."

"Yes, you _do_," Jimmy said brashly, in a way no footman in the history of footmen had probably ever spoken to an under butler. He didn't bloody care. He grabbed Thomas's injured hand and squeezed it, making Thomas gasp- from pain or surprise, he couldn't be sure- and spoke in a rough voice that barely began to communicate the urgency he felt. "Because something _is_ going _on_, and if you know who that damned soldier _is_, I'd like some bloody _answers_!" He balked, dropping Thomas's hand, surprised at his own temper.

"I'm sorry," he continued. "I'm just... I'm just frightened, I guess. I'm sorry," he said, ducking his head. Thomas was still giving him that blank stare, and under it Jimmy began to feel quite ridiculous. He shook his head. "I feel like I'm cracking up."

Thomas's brows knit in- concern?- and he seemed about to speak, but then the bells started ringing and Carson was calling them and they were away, leaving Jimmy with more questions and no answers.

He could not find a moment alone with Thomas in the day. The Ambassador's visit brought other upper class people from around the county into the house to visit with him, and the Dowager Countess presided over tea like an empress over a vast kingdom. To the discomfort of Lord and Lady Grantham, Lady Mary deigned not to visit, instead taking her son with her for an elaborate picnic in the unused rooms on the northern side of the house. "She wants us to pack her a _picnic_ _luncheon_ to go eat somewhere in the _house_? With the Ambassador here and everything?" Alfred whispered to Jimmy incredulously, but then Carson stalked by and they shut up. Since Mr. Crawley had died Carson would permit no discussion of her frequent and bizarre requests.

Most embarrassingly, it turned out that Lord D'Abernon was quite close with Sir Anthony Strallan, and he kept asking after him. "What do you _mean_, he declined?" He said, loudly, when he was informed that Sir Anthony would not be coming. "Of _course_ he's coming! I've known him since I was born! We exchange letters every _week_! Why, in his last post he told me he couldn't wait to clap eyes on me again!" And so on, until Lady Edith looked almost in tears.

"Guess he doesn't know Strallan well enough to know that he jilted Lady Edith, though," Jimmy whispered to Alfred when they were alone in the hall, and they both had to choke back their laughter.

But the semblance of normalcy that a busy day gave was not enough to dispel Jimmy's unease. Pictures seemed suspiciously crooked on the walls, and on second glance, would appear perfectly level. He felt that there was strangeness in the air, reflected in the drawn faces of the people of Downton, both upstairs and down.

Dinner was a formal affair, even by the standards of the house. Both Carson and Thomas presided over the dinner in elegant silence, and Jimmy served with perfect composure, Alfred following behind him.

"Please give my compliments to your cook," Lady D'Abernon said to Lady Grantham. "This is delicious. And such pleasant company. It is so nice to be among english-speaking people." Polite laughter tinkled like bells all around the table.

"Yes, you must tell us of life in Germany," Lady Edith said, no doubt already composing her next newspaper article. Thomas would usually read those aloud to Jimmy, in the evenings, and he found them quite enjoyable- serious and a bit funny at the same time.

Across the table, Lady Mary -who had greatly relieved everyone by showing up for dinner after all- was listening with a frankly bored expression to Lord D'Abernon while he rattled on ceaselessly about politics. Mr. Branson- it amused Jimmy to no end that he had once been a chauffeur- looked as though he'd rather be in the servants hall. _Not if you'd seen the goings-on down there, you wouldn't_, Jimmy thought. _Maybe ghosts aren't permitted upstairs._

But then, there had been what Lady Rose said about the pictures- and the vase had fallen. Jimmy felt unease creep up on him again. He searched out Thomas's eyes, and found Thomas already looking at him. Thomas averted his gaze quickly, but Jimmy felt reassured.

The conversation around the table dragged on, until finally Lady Grantham broke it. "I think we had best go through," She announced to the other women, and rose from her seat. As she did, the strangest thing happened.

A napkin that lay atop the table, discarded, rose slowly into the air as though it were on a string. Jimmy watched it all with a feeling of powerlessness, as though he were still dreaming and could not alter nor look away from the course of events.

Not everyone noticed the strange apparition straight away. Rose saw the napkin first (or second, after Jimmy himself) and shrieked, pointing at it.

"What's this?" Said Lord Grantham, bemused. "Some kind of trick?"

The napkin swayed back and forth in invisible currents of air, moving exactly as Jimmy's necktie had the night before.

Everybody was getting to their feet. Lord D'Abernon had broken off his constant conversation and stared at it. Carson took a few steps forward. Thomas looked straight at Jimmy, as if to make sure he were alright.

"Well, _really_," Lady Mary said, and stepped right up on her own chair, leaning dangerously out over the table, and caught the napkin out of the air, clasping it firmly in one hand. "No string," She announced- to the table, presumably, but she was looking at Carson. He walked over to her quickly, offering his arm. "What," she asked him, stepping delicately down off of her chair, "do you think could have caused _that_?"

"I have no idea, Mi'lady," Carson answered. He looked as bewildered as Jimmy felt.

Now everyone was on their feet. "Spirits," Lady D'Abernon announced. "I've have seen the work of spirits _before_, and that could only be-"

"Now really, Helen," Lord D'Abernon said, "Don't be ridiculous. What would spirits want with a _napkin_?"

"Don't insult me, Edgar," Lady D'Abernon replied. "Just because you have no respect for the realms of the divine-"

"I think it was probably a clever hoax," the Dowager Countess interjected, smoothing out her dress and gathering her cane.

"Not a very funny one, though," Lord Grantham said, his brow furrowed. "Mary, may I see that napkin, please?"

Then two things happened in rapid succession: all of the chairs around the table pulled back in unison, making a tremendous noise. The occupants of the table, all now on their feet, looked at one another. Lady Rose gave a little cry, like a hiccough, and then pressed her trembling hands to her face. "_What_ in the name of God is going _on?_" Lord Grantham said, and before he could finish his sentence, the windows flew open as though they had been spring loaded- all of them, all at once- even the ones which had probably _never_ been opened before. The noise was tremendous, earthshaking. Jimmy thought that every window in Downton must have opened at that moment.

Alfred had dropped a serving tray onto the carpet. Lady Rose was weeping. Mr. Branson looked halfway there himself. Mrs. Crawley- who Jimmy thought was quite a tough old thing- was already at the windows, inspecting them.

"I told you, Edgar," Lady D'Abernon said, smugly. "Spirits."

"Matthew," Lady Mary said, suddenly. "Matthew, is that you?"

A chill wind was blowing into the house in full force. Jimmy felt as though he were witnessing the apocalypse. The chairs formed a wide circle around the table's occupants, but Thomas came pushing through it, and stopped in front of Jimmy. "Are you alright?" He asked, breaking his one-meter rule quite utterly. His hands came up as if he were going to clasp Jimmy about the shoulders, but he stopped himself.

"I _told_ you something strange was going on," Jimmy said. Thomas only renewed his look. "Yes, I'm fine," Jimmy answered, although he was certainly trembling. Thomas nodded. "Good. Then help me get these windows shut."

"Well," said the Dowager Countess, "I think we should be going through, if it's all the same to everyone."

"I..." Lady Grantham stood speechless. Lady Mary had crossed the room, to stand in front of one of the opened windows, and Thomas led Jimmy over to the left, to help him force the other windows closed.

Someone began calling for Carson outside of the dining room door. He opened it, to reveal almost the rest of the staff standing in the hall. He could hear Mrs. Hughes's voice, but not what she said. _Whee_, thought Jimmy, dizzily. _What fun._

"Rose needs to lie down," Lady Edith said, taking the sobbing girl by the hand. "If you'll excuse me."

"Mother, don't go through alone," Lord Grantham said, sharply. "We should all stay together until we figure out what's going on."

Using all of their strength, Thomas and Jimmy forced first one window down, and then the next. "Don't worry, my dear," Lady D'Abernon was saying to Lady Grantham. "I have a medium who can help you with your spirit problem. She's quite excellent. I consult her before we do anything or go anywhere..."

"And what did she say before you came _here?_" Mr. Branson asked.

"He has a point," said the Dowager.

Thomas made a noise of effort as they forced the second window down, and Jimmy flashed upon the night when Thomas had crept into his room. He remembered perfectly for an instant the sensation of waking up to the feeling of the man's body pressing down against him. He didn't know why he should remember it now, but it made his throat feel tight.

Thomas was flexing the clumsier fingers of his injured hand. "Does it hurt?" Jimmy asked him.

"I'm _fine_," Thomas said, walking to the next window. From behind them, Mrs. Crawley said: "Do you suppose we should contact the police?"

"And tell them what?" Lord Grantham asked. "That somebody is moving our furniture?"

"Perhaps that we are the victims of some awful prank, Robert," Lady Grantham said, her voice tremulous. "Even if it isn't the case, at least it would get them over here-"

"Well it _is_ the case!" Lord Grantham said. He sounded quite harassed.

'Let's go through, anyhow, all together," Lord D'Abernon said. "Strangest thing I've ever seen. Alfred!" He commanded, ostensibly seeing his awful valet gathered with all of the rest of the staff. "Go and fetch me that box of cigars I brought. I want Lord Grantham to try one."

"Yes, my Lord," Awful Alfred said, presumably twirling away through the air to fetch them.

Regular Alfred was scraping mousse off of the carpet with shaking hands. "Come along," said Lord Grantham. "I mean _all _of you. No-one is to go into the dining room until I've figured out what's going on."

Thomas and Jimmy shut the last window and filed out with everybody else. "Go with the family and see if any more windows need closing," Carson told them. He sounded slightly faint. "Your Lordship," He said, "It seems that the same thing happened downstairs."

"The lights have all blown in the drawing room," Mr. Branson said.

"_Robert_," Lady Grantham said, a bright edge of fear in her tone.

"It's all right, Cora," Lord Grantham said, taking her arm. "Let's go into the study," He announced in a louder tone, leading the entire dinner party in the opposite direction.

"Come in here and we'll get these windows first," Thomas said, walking into the empty sitting room. Jimmy, standing at the dark doorway, had to force himself to comply.

Thomas smirked at his trepidation, navigating easily around the furniture in the dim light. "These opened as well," he said to Jimmy, who could feel the draft. "Looks like we have a dismal evening ahead of us." He paused, looking back expectantly. "Well?" He said, and Jimmy walked towards him, through the dark.

"How can you be so _calm_?" Jimmy asked him, as they pushed down another window.

Thomas shrugged. "I've seen worse and so have you," He answered, massaging the palm of his injured hand before they closed the next window. "It's not as if we're at war."

"Yes...but... that's different," Jimmy said. "A war is a real thing, with _reasons_ behind its happening- but this..." He trailed off, helplessly. "This..."

"There must be reasons for this, too," Thomas answered. "We just don't possess the tools with which to understand them."

They faced each other for a moment. Jimmy felt no desire to look away from Thomas. _There is something I have to ask him_, Jimmy thought, _about the soldier-_

"Let's go," Thomas said abruptly, turning away.

There was a commotion from the study, and Thomas quickened his pace almost to a full run, Jimmy following him.

"What's going on-" Thomas broke off as he got through the door. Everyone was standing in the study, before the massive bookshelves that Jimmy had always thought quite handsome- but those bookshelves were now utterly bare.

The books- thousands of them- were arranged in artful pyramids atop all of the furniture. A pyramid of books two meters high, arranged in a conical shape reminiscent of a Christmas tree, adorned one of the tables. Books balanced precariously on couch cushions and ottomans. Books ascended towards heaven in strange towers. The people in the room seemed quite displaced, as though they should climb into the bookshelves and lay there to even things out.

"Did you see it happen?" Thomas asked the room at large, breaking the cardinal rule of speaking-when-not-spoken-to. But all the rules seemed to be off the table for the evening, as it was the Dowager Countess who answered him.

"No, we did not," she said. "We just came in here and found it like _this_." She said it as though the room had been found in a state of mild disarray.

On the floor lay two books, side by side, apart from all the others. Jimmy walked over to them and uttered a wild little laugh. On the left was his copy of _The Collected Works of Charles Dickens, vol. 2. _On the right was Thomas's copy of _The Age of Innocence_.

"Mr. Barrow," He said, in an unsteady voice. Thomas came over, and Jimmy bent down and picked up both books. "I believe this belongs to you," he said. Now Thomas looked quite put out, as if he had only just grasped the gravity of the situation.

"And this one is mine," Jimmy said, showing him the Dickens.

"Ah," Thomas said, uneasily.

"I believe that Carson should lie down," Lady Mary announced, coming back into the room from the hall. "The evening's excitement is giving him palpitations."

"Yes, absolutely," Lord Grantham said.

"I've telephoned the police," Mrs. Crawley announced.

"Here, Robert, try one of these cigars," Lord D'Abernon said. "They're really quite exquisite."

The evening was chaos. Thomas organized a team- which consisted of Jimmy, Alfred, and the hall boys- to close all the the windows in any room where anyone would have to sleep or sit for the next twelve hours. The police came- a pair of them- and asked everyone a lot of questions for which nobody had any answers. Drinks were served (everyone drank liberally) by Bates and Awful Alfred, as all of the butlers and footmen were otherwise occupied. The dining room rug that Alfred had bathed in mousse had to be taken out for cleaning.

Then sleeping arrangements were made and passed along to the staff. Lady Mary, Lady Rose and Lady Edith decided to room together for the night- an unprecedented turn of events, as Jimmy got the distinct impression that the sisters, at least, were not overly fond of one another- with Mary's son, and Mr. Branson insisted on keeping little Sybil in his room for the evening.

"I can't stay here," Jimmy heard Lady Edith telling her mother. "Not with all of these awful _things_ happening. I'm going to bring Rose with me- and take the early train into London tomorrow."

"You do that, dear," Lady Grantham answered distractedly. Lady D'Abernon seemed to be the only one who was truly excited- she continued to bend Lady Grantham's ear with tales of her medium friend and all of the accurate predictions she had made. "I recommend a séance," She said, imperiously. Lord Grantham looked quite appalled.

"You know," Lady Grantham said, "Perhaps we should..."

"Absolutely not!" Lord Grantham said, and as he said it, a stack of books tumbled over next to him.

"We'll do it," Lady Grantham said, turning back to the Ambassador's wife. "Oh, wonderful," she replied, all but clapping her hands together. "I'll make a telephone call."

It took another hour for them to put the books back on the shelves. Jimmy kept expecting to turn around and see all of them transported back to the furniture, looming in those strange pyramids. But nothing else threatened to happen, and eventually everyone went home or to bed, and Jimmy went downstairs.

Dinner was a haphazard affair in the servants hall. "Well, I don't know what to make of it," Mrs. Hughes said. "But Daisy and Ivy are going to stay with Anna and Mr. Bates, who have generously agreed to open up their home to them for the evening, and all the rest of my girls are going to stay in the same room tonight. Actually, Thomas, I could use someone to move their beds for them."

Thomas nodded. He had been closing windows for the better part of an hour, and Jimmy saw him methodically rubbing his hand. "Alfred and I will do it," Jimmy volunteered, standing.

Mrs. Hughes looked at him admonishingly. "I'd thank you, if I didn't think you were just doing it to see the girl's rooms," She said, flapping a hand at him. "Go ahead."

When he returned, Bates and Anna had left ("I have no theories," Bates had said, and Anna had whispered something to him that Jimmy had only half heard, about his reconsidering not being a religious man-) taking Daisy and Ivy with them. O'Brien, who Jimmy had barely glimpsed since her strange appearance at breakfast, was locked in her room and apparently had no plans about doing anything different. "Mrs. Hughes," Mrs. Patmore said, coming into the hall, "Would you care to room with an old woman for the evening?"

"I would find it to be an immense relief, Mrs. Patmore," Mrs. Hughes replied. "And I must go to bed. This has been entirely too much excitement for one day."

She left, and Carson came in to the hall- everyone rose, but he waved them back down, and sat heavily.

"This is highly unconventional," Carson said, after a pause, and then stopped for a moment, as though that were all he could say.

"Mr. Carson," Alfred said, "Fred and I are going to go stay in the stables for the evening with the hall boys and the groomsmen. Is that alright?"

Carson nodded. "But make sure you don't stay up all night drinking or any such nonsense," he said, sternly. "And bring heavy blankets. Not the _good_ blankets. It will be cold tonight. And take an alarm clock. Whatever... _happens_, it's no excuse for lateness. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," Alfred said, and left with Awful Alfred- both of them obviously eager to be out of the house as quickly as possible. "Good night, Mr. Barrow," Awful Alfred said, tossing a simpering look over his shoulder as they left.

Now only Jimmy and Thomas remained with Carson in the hall. "James, you are also welcome to stay in the barn, should you choose to," Carson said.

"Thank you, sir, but I'll sleep in my room, spirits or no spirits," Jimmy said.

"That is entirely up to you. I myself cannot sleep in _my_ room, as it has been experiencing some... _disturbances_ for the past few hours." Carson looked put out for even having to utter such a preposterous phrase. He cleared his throat, and seemingly tried to gather his thoughts. Jimmy had never seen Carson at such a loss for words. "I plan to take a bromide and sleep in my office," He said. "And as for you, Mr. Barrow-"

Thomas looked up. "Sir?" He asked.

Carson cleared his throat. "For reasons that are known to everyone in this room, I think it would be inappropriate for you to spend the evening in the stables."

Jimmy, thinking of Awful Alfred out there already, snorted back laughter. Carson turned to him. "It is no laughing matter, as you should well know, _James_,"He said severely.

"You're right, sir, I'm sorry," Jimmy said helplessly. "Do continue."

"As I was _saying_," Carson continued, fixing Jimmy with one more disapproving stare before he turned back to Thomas- "though I do not think that would be _appropriate_, you are not required to stay alone. You may sleep on the floor of my office, provided that you remain against the opposite wall."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Carson," Thomas said, his face betraying nothing. "But I think I can manage on my own. Although it does seem such a lovely night to molest people."

Jimmy had to cover his face with his hands, but it did not keep his laughter at bay. He shook uncontrollably with silent mirth. When he finally could look up, Carson was glaring at Thomas, his eyes practically bugging out of his head.

"I am going to forget that you said that, because we are all under a great deal of strain," Carson said, and Thomas bowed his head as though he had been given a great gift, but Jimmy could see that the corners of his mouth were turned up. "But I see no humor it it," He added, rising to his feet. Jimmy stood up, still trying not to laugh. "And I have no idea why _you_ do," Carson said giving Jimmy an ominous look.

"Very sorry, sir," Jimmy managed, between laughs. "Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Carson."

"As I am spending my evening in a _chair_ I undoubtedly will _not_," Carson said, with a long suffering air, and departed.

Now they were alone. Thomas stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. "I'm going," he said to Jimmy. "I'm tired. Two hours of shutting windows, and still a hundred more to do tomorrow."

"You seem to be taking all of this in stride," Jimmy said, getting to his feet also. He couldn't let Thomas escape without giving him the answers that he so desperately required. Jimmy knew- he felt it in his bones- that there was a mystery in the middle of everything going on. The two books, placed just so, side by side, belonging to him and Thomas- it was a message. Or a clue.

"I'll come up as well," he said, pushing his hair back, the picture of nonchalance. He saw Thomas's eyes move over him, but then Thomas looked guiltily away, and made for the stairs.

"Sleep well, Jimmy," Thomas said, when he had reached his bedroom door. Thomas looked exhausted. Jimmy rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet- but the madness of the earlier hours imbued him with a sense of urgency, and so he made a decision. Thomas was closing his door.

"Actually, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy said, uncomfortably, "might I come in for a moment? There is something rather urgent I would like to discuss."

He saw Thomas's jaw tighten, as though it were difficult to answer- and in fact Thomas did not speak, but simply opened his door. Jimmy followed him in- and turned, bolting the door behind him. Thomas watched him do it, standing motionless a good distance away from Jimmy, in the middle of the room.

Jimmy looked at him - _really _looked at him. Thomas stood, stiff with formality, not at all with the same sense of ease he occasionally displayed when they spent long evenings in the servant's hall.

Jimmy exhaled, because- well, it was _awkward_, that he could not deny. The air between them seemed thick, tense with a multitude of things.

But Jimmy gathered his resolve and strode forward, taking a seat in the chair that paired with Thomas's desk- as he had when he had come to visit Thomas- during the weeks when Thomas had been recovering from the beating that belonged to Jimmy.

Thomas stayed standing for a moment, as if unsure what to do, and then sat down on the edge of his bed. "What- what is it you need to talk about?" He asked. His tone sounded very forced.

"Listen, I'm sorry to do this to you, but it is important," Jimmy said. "Something _otherworldly_ is happening at Downton, and I think that everyone's dreams- and that blind soldier- are all wound up in it somehow. It _sounds _ridiculous-" Jimmy pressed, looking at Thomas's disbelieving expression- "but everything that happened at dinner was ridiculous too, and still- it happened." He paused, trying and failing to gauge Thomas's reaction, and then continued in a rush. "And I think you- and _I - _are wound up in it somehow, too. Our books on the floor..."

"It has nothing to do with the soldier or dreams or anything," Thomas said, suddenly.

"But how do you _know_?" Jimmy pressed.

"Because," Thomas said, in a low voice, "I dream of him all the time."

Jimmy paused, and then recovered himself. "You know him, then?" He dragged his chair closer to the bed, as though such things were better talked about quietly.

"I knew him. He's dead," Thomas said. There was a wealth of emptiness in his voice. "His name was Lieutenant Edward Courtenay, and he committed suicide in 1917, at the village hospital."

"Were you in love with him?" Jimmy had no idea why he asked it- perhaps Thomas's tone had given something away- but Thomas nodded, slowly.

"I think so," Thomas said. He stared at his palms as though they contained volumes of fascinating information.

"Was he in love with you?" Jimmy asked, but Thomas shrugged his shoulders, his mouth twisting. "I don't know. Sometimes I've wondered, but... my wishful thinking gets me into trouble. I could have been _wrong_." He said the last word like he was cursing himself. _Wrong._

Jimmy felt very badly for him, all of a sudden. It seemed a thankless sort of life, to work very hard and manage everything when it felt like everything was falling apart, and then still be forced to remain alone, condemned by a life you had not chosen, and to listen to tedious lectures from Carson about how you were _unsafe_ to sleep in a bloody _barn_.

"If he did love me, it wasn't enough to keep him from razoring his wrists," Thomas said. The corners of his mouth quirked up, but Jimmy saw no humor evident on his pale face.

"Why did he do it?" Jimmy asked.

"They were going to send him away, to a convalescent home. Away from me and Lady Sybil- and we were the ones who'd been teaching him how to get on, without, you know, eyes," Thomas said. He took out a box of matches and a cigarette, and made to strike the match, but missed. Jimmy saw that his hands were shaking. "Here, let me," Jimmy said, and took the matches and the cigarette away from him, lighting it, and then handed it back. Thomas watched him do it with a strange expression on his face.

"And give me one as well, will you?" Jimmy added. Thomas took another cigarette out wordlessly, and Jimmy lit it, taking a long drag. It burned his lungs, but it felt strangely appropriate to the situation. He wished he had a stiff drink to go with it.

"I have liquor in my room," Jimmy said, after a moment. "You fancy a drink?"

Thomas nodded, but held out his hand when Jimmy stood to go. "There's whiskey in my desk," Thomas said. "And a glass. But one of us'll have to drink from the bottle."

"Fine by me," Jimmy said, and got up, returning with the alcohol. He poured two- then three- fingers for Thomas, and kept the bottle for himself.

"Cheers," Jimmy said. "To the mysteries of the universe." Thomas touched his glass to the bottle, and then took a long swig, and Jimmy matched him for it, from the neck of the bottle.

"Do you have a picture of him?" Jimmy asked, after a moment. The whiskey made him feel slightly more comfortable- a pleasant experience compared to the icy fear that had lain across his shoulders for the better part of the day.

Thomas nodded, and stood, going to his bureau. After a moment he returned, with a small, yellowing photograph, curled at the edges, of a handsome man with a narrow face in a uniform. His eyes were very striking- they seemed to look _at_ the viewer.

"That's him," Jimmy breathed, holding the photograph up to the light. "He had white eyes and scars all over-"

"Gas blindness," Thomas said, from the bed.

"Yes. But it was certainly him. He's been haunting my dreams for days!" Jimmy felt strangely excited, as though a piece of the puzzle had just clicked neatly into place.

"What is it that he does, when he haunts your dreams?" Thomas asked, and Jimmy faltered. He couldn't tell if Thomas believed him or not, and he couldn't _tell_ him. Well, he could try to tell him the pertinent points- without telling any of the parts that he would rather not think about.

"He's- he's not very kind to me-" Jimmy began, hesitantly. "But he seems to- ah- _care _for you a great deal. Maybe that's why we're getting harassed by all these apparitions," He said, triumphantly, and took another swig of his whiskey. "Because Courtenay wants me to look after you."

"But it's not just us," Thomas said. "We've not even gotten the worst of it."

"You don't even believe it _is_ a haunting, do you?" Jimmy asked. "_That's_ why you're handling it so well. You're in shock. I mean- _denial_. You're in denial."

"I am not in denial, I'm just trying to do my job," Thomas said, stiffly. He put the photograph carefully away, and turned to face Jimmy. "Are you going to get drunk, then?" He asked.

"Yes," Jimmy said. He was quite certain that he needed to get drunk. "I think so."

"In that case, I'll have another," Thomas said. He sat back down, and held out his glass. Jimmy poured him a liberal amount.

"Yes. I think he wants me to help you," Jimmy said, taking a drag of the the cigarette with poor technique.

"That's what you think," Thomas said, expressionlessly. Jimmy nodded vehemently. He felt bolstered up by the drink and the strength of his convictions.

"Yes," he said, again.

"And is that what you're trying to do?" Thomas asked, so lowly that Jimmy had to lean forward to make out his words. "_Help_ me?"

Jimmy hadn't thought about it- not _really_- but now he was forced to consider. "Yes," he said, after a beat. "I suppose so."

Jimmy almost felt like he could hear the phantom strains of Chopin's third sonata- the one that Thomas loved so much- captured in the room.

"Jimmy," Thomas said, looking up at him. He spoke each word with the greatest effort "It is very difficult for me to be your friend. I want to be near you, and yet-" He paused. His face was utterly unguarded. He looked as though he were in pain.

Jimmy thought of the dream, of Thomas's fingers running through his hair.

"I'm sorry," Jimmy said, and put out his cigarette. "I won't stop." _In my whole life, _Jimmy thought, _I have never felt so much conviction about anything. _It was a whole, clear, thought, and it resounded through him like a bell.

"Perhaps all this _had_ to happen," Jimmy said, taking a deep breath. He reached out his hands- almost not knowing what he was going to do with them- and watched, fascinated by his own daring, as his fingers came to rest on Thomas's left hand, the injured one. Very carefully, he picked Thomas's hand between his own. Thomas watched him, utterly still. He looked dazed, as if he were dreaming.

Jimmy could feel Thomas's heartbeat in his fingertips. It was quick. He felt heady with some feeling he could not name.

"I'm sorry," he said to Thomas, not certain what he was apologizing for. "I didn't know." He tugged at the glove that Thomas wore- it was specially made, and left most of his fingers uncovered- but Jimmy had never seen the injuries hidden under it. "Will you take this off?" He said, and then began carefully to undo the buttons himself.

Thomas watched him. "It's horrible to look at," Thomas muttered, and Jimmy, for a change, recognized the feeling. Vanity. "You're bothered by it?" He whispered back, and Thomas nodded, once. Jimmy thought that he had never met a person with a more perfect- or more occasional- talent for rendering their face devoid of expression than Thomas possessed.

"You know how I got it?" Thomas asked, and Jimmy nodded, answering: "In the war." Jimmy took the glove off, to reveal flesh twisted angrily around a centerpoint that could have only been a bullet wound, and lay Thomas's hand against his own knee. Thomas's fingers twitched reflexively as Jimmy touched them- all except for the last two, which were slightly stiff. He watched Thomas move them, with difficulty.

"No," Thomas said, quietly. "I held a lighter up out of a trench and waited for the Germans to shoot me. So I could get out." Then he balked, as if realizing what he had confessed to. "I've never told anybody that. Please don't repeat it."

"And yet you ran _into _a fight for me?" Jimmy asked. He didn't drop his hold on the other man's hand. Thomas looked pained. "That was different," He said, by way of a reply.

"Different how?" Jimmy asked.

Thomas shrugged with his right shoulder. "It just was." Suddenly his pulled his hand away and stood up. Jimmy rose with him, coming up roughly to his shoulder.

"I suppose I _am_ affected by the day, after all," Thomas said, unsteadily. "You'll have to excuse me, Jimmy. I need sleep-"

"Wait-" Jimmy said, and stepped across the small distance between them. He pressed against Thomas. The air felt thicker by the moment- so thick that it pushed Jimmy more firmly against the body before him- and the room smelled sweet, heavy with tobacco and whiskey.

"I want to try something," Jimmy said, into Thomas's neck. Thomas himself held still as a sculpture, not touching Jimmy back, not moving. Jimmy pressed his face against the collar of Thomas's starched shirt, taking a breath, and wound his hands through Thomas's hands. Thomas held his arms stiffly at his sides, but Jimmy pulled them up, slightly, so that they were in a half-embrace.

"Jimmy," Thomas said, measuredly. His eyes were closed tightly. Jimmy looked up into his face- the hint of effort at his brow- his dark lashes- the bones of his cheeks jutting out- and his mouth, which curved slightly upwards no matter his mood. There was a small scar on his lower lip- a white scratch- tiny, really- that gleamed there. Jimmy remembered it from the awful split it had been, after Thomas had taken his beating.

"Jimmy," Thomas said again, and Jimmy laid his head against Thomas's chest so that he could hear both his words and his heartbeat at the same time. "You're not yourself," Thomas ground out. "You're drunk, and I'm afraid you're doing this because you think _ghosts_ want you to."

"I said I wanted to _try_ something, not succeed at it," Jimmy said, and freed his left hand from Thomas's right. He laughed against Thomas's chest at the absurdity of it all. Why on earth did this feel so good? Why should it feel better to stand here in this strange embrace with this man than anything else ever had? "I'm not doing it because I think ghosts are blackmailing us. I just want..."

With his free hand he reached up and touched the side of Thomas's neck- that touch that he had found so disconcerting when Thomas had taken the liberty with him, a year and a half ago.

"This feels good," Jimmy said, absently. He felt a physical desire for Thomas that made him profoundly uncomfortable. "I think this is all I can rightly do for now," He confessed, running his hand through Thomas's hair.

"You don't have to do anything," Thomas said, but Jimmy could hear his heartbeat quicken at the touch.

"Will you touch me?" Jimmy asked. "Just my hair, nothing else," he added, feeling a spike of anxiety at the wanton sound of his invitation._ This was odd, this was very very odd-_

Jimmy ran his fingertips along the scar on Thomas's lower lip, and Thomas breathed in sharply. He reached up with his right hand, and ran it gently through Jimmy's hair. Jimmy pressed his head against Thomas's fingers, taking a deep breath. "That feels good, too," He said.

Thomas had a look on his face that Jimmy had never seen before. He moved his hand through Jimmy's hair, again, and again, and Jimmy pushed closer against him, twining his right hand more tightly around Thomas's injured one.

"Touch my neck," Jimmy said, demonstrating on Thomas. The expression on Thomas's face made him want to do _more_, push a little farther. He was painfully aware of his own body and Thomas's body next to him. "As you used to."

Thomas's eyes darkened and he took a step back, trying to pull his hands away. "Jimmy," He said, his voice hoarse sounding- "We shouldn't- you don't _need_ to-"

"I said I know," Jimmy said. "I'm awake _now_, aren't I?" He took a step forward, so that Thomas was trapped between him and the cot. "Please," he said, quietly. "I'm rather unused to this. So don't make me beg."

Thomas paused, and nodded, and Jimmy put his arms around Thomas, leaning against his breastbone. "You feel good," Jimmy said.

"You too, Jimmy," Thomas said, offering him a tight smile. He reached forward, hesitantly, and pressed his palm to Jimmy's neck. Jimmy closed his eyes. "Yes," he said, almost under his breath. "Like that."

They stayed that way for several moments. Jimmy felt as lulled by Thomas's heartbeat as he had been, as a child, by the ticking of the metronome on his father's piano. "I don't know why," He said, looking up after a long moment, "But I feel safer with you, now, than I do with anyone else."

Thomas looked down at him, his expression almost soft. "Why?" He asked, looking confused.

"I don't know," Jimmy said, and stood up on his toes. "I suppose it's because I know that you love me."

Jimmy pressed his lips against Thomas's for an instant- they were softer than he had expected, and Thomas barely moved his mouth at all, letting Jimmy do what he might. Jimmy kissed him, gently at first, and then deeply- and then Thomas kissed him back. For a moment, his mouth against Jimmy's, his taste, his tongue- were the only things that existed. Jimmy parted his lips, and made an involuntary sound, pushing up and against Thomas.

"Ah," Thomas said, quietly, into his mouth, and moved his limbs at last, pulling Jimmy close to him, so that their bodies pressed fully together.

"Yes, like that," Jimmy whispered, and held Thomas to him, his hands wrapping around the back of the other man. He moved his body against Thomas, involuntarily- and felt a jab of terror- as though he would not be able to stop. "Okay," He said, quietly, as Thomas kissed his neck. "Okay, that's enough."

Thomas stepped away immediately, dropping his hands. His hair was quite disheveled, and he rubbed the back of his neck, looking at Jimmy through heavy eyes.

Jimmy stepped back as well, and laughed shakily, straightening his wrinkled livery. "I suppose I should be off, then," He said.

Thomas stared at him, his chest moving up and down with his breath. He had spots of color high on his cheeks, and Jimmy leaned back in one more time, to squeeze his hand. "I'll- uhm- see you tomorrow," Jimmy said, and Thomas nodded, mutely. He still had that stunned look about him, and stayed standing perfectly still, against his bed- even as Jimmy left, closing the door behind him, and made his way down the empty hall.

* * *

"Sybil and I would like very much to see you happy," Lieutenant Courtenay said, "as would your mother and father- regardless of the circumstances of your happiness."

"Thanks," Thomas muttered. No matter how he pressed his hands against the hourglass, the sand was pouring out, spilling all over the sitting room, making an awful mess.

"Don't worry about it, for now," The Lieutenant said, gently, and put his hands atop Thomas's own. They were beautiful hands, the hands of a musician- white, long-fingered, elegant- and then they were someone else's hands- the hands of an _actual_ musician- smaller palms, thicker fingers, golden toned skin.

Where had the hourglass gone to? He would find someone to clean up the sand, he thought, but the hands turned him about and he was facing Jimmy, who looked up at him with a look he had worn some other time-there was fear in it, and- and resolve, and things that filled his eyes and made his very _face_ contradictory.

"Can I have a cigarette?" He asked Thomas, and rested his head against Thomas's chest. Thomas looked down at the top of his fair head. His heart felt as though it were filled with sand, so heavily did it weigh upon him with each beat.

"Yes, of course, Jimmy," He said, "You can have anything from me that you ask."

"I'll not ask you to fall upon your sword again," Jimmy muttered. "But- look!"

He pulled away from Thomas, still with his hand tangled in Thomas's own, and dragged him through the drifts of sand, to the window.

Outside the, the trees had caught fire, and burned in a row in front of the house. Isis stood in front of them, barking wildly. Thomas thought if he only had a bucket to put the sand in, he could throw it on the fire, to put it out-

"It's _beautiful_," Jimmy said, and stood up on his toes, pressing his mouth to Thomas's. Thomas kissed him back, and they tangled their hands in one another's hair, pressing into each other- again, again, again.

* * *

Thomas woke up in a sweat and wondered if he wasn't getting ill- and then remembered, in order, the events of the last day. Jimmy yelling at him, his face twisted with anger, outside of the kitchen, grasping Thomas's bad hand and squeezing it, send a sharp spike of pain that was almost pleasure through him, because _Jimmy_ was the one hurting him. Dinner- when the apparitions had stolen the show- the napkin, the chairs-

Thomas rolled over slowly, feeling sore and hungover. He remembered Lady Mary saying _"Matthew? Is that you?"_

Even in the morning light, it was enough to raise gooseflesh on his arms, the way she had called out to the darkness like her dead husband was in it, moving the furniture.

And then the books- and oh, God, that was right, he remembered, he still had all those windows to get closed today- and Carson seemed to have gone on a leave of absence, despite being right there in the building, so it was all on him-

Oh. And then Jimmy.

Thomas sat up. Had that really happened? It seemed so much like something he would have had as a fantasy that he wasn't sure of himself.

_"I think that's all I can rightly do for now,_" Jimmy had said, laughing, breathless. He had wanted it, Thomas could feel that, so closely had they been pressed togther. Thomas took a deep breath on the edge of his cot, and felt desire settle over him at the memory of their embrace. And then his stomach bottomed out.

"_I think that's all I can rightly do for now,"_ Jimmy said, and Thomas had kissed him anyways. He had _violated_ Jimmy's wishes. Jimmy had left quickly when he had left, probably frightened that Thomas was going to throw him down and crawl atop him, as he had that night in Jimmy's room-

Thomas stood in front of his vanity, and washed himself. He tried to dress, but even the fingers of his good hand trembled uncontrollably with nerves.

_You're going to go down there and he'll have two bobbies waiting to take you away_, The scared part of his mind told him, in a voice reminiscent of O'Brien's. _You should've stayed away from him. He was drunk, and he wasn't himself. At the very least you're going to lose your job- and Carson will never offer you a reference after a second offense. You're done for, m'lad._

"It was worth it," Thomas said, to the mirror, but the pallid, haggard man who looked back at him didn't seem as though he agreed. "Even just for a kiss," Thomas said, more firmly, "It was worth it."

For a few moments, fully dressed, he stood before his door, trying to find the will to go downstairs and face the music. _Oh,_ _just do it, you fool_, He thought, and pushed the door open. The hall was eerily still- as it never was in the early hours, when all the men were up and dressing. As he passed Carson's door, he thought that he heard strange dragging sounds from within- but he didn't stop to investigate.

The servant's hall was empty. Neither Carson nor the police had appeared to take him away, but Thomas's anxiety barely abated.

He heard the door of Carson's office creak open, and man himself emerged, looking slightly worse for the wear. "Good morning, Mr. Barrow," he said, and then glanced around. "Where is everybody? _Late?"_

"I suppose so, Mr. Carson," Thomas replied, lighting a cigarette. "Shall I go down to the barn and fetch them?"

"Yes," Carson said, but then the door to the outside opened, and Alfred came in, with Fred, who smiled pleasantly at Thomas, and the hallboys all stumbling after. They all looked awful.

"You are all _late_," Carson admonished them. "Go and make yourselves presentable and get back down here. Quickly!"

The maids came trickling in, and finally noises began in the kitchen. "I'll have to get the rest of those windows closed today, Mr. Carson," Thomas said, trying to keep his mind on his job.

"_If_ we can manage to accomplish anything today, it will only reflect well on you, and not on the rest of the staff," Carson said, irritably.

"They're young and they've all had an awful fright," Thomas put back, but Carson was hardly mollified.

"They're young and they should recover more quickly than the old," He replied. "_Where_ is Mrs. Hughes?"

"I'm here, I'm here, stop your yelling," said the lady in question, coming in. Mrs. Hughes looked as though she had a bit of a headache, and Thomas wondered with a vague amusement- amusement that lay somewhere underneath his unease- if she was't as hungover as everybody else.

"Oh, my," She said, and sat down at the table. "What a night. How are you feeling, Thomas?"

"Well enough," Thomas said, hoping she would not notice the tremor than ran through his cigarette.

Then all the men came into the servants hall in a big crowd- they seemed decently composed, but Carson looked as though he wanted to grab them and scrub behind each of their ears. Fred slipped into the seat next to Thomas, smiling at him, and said "What a night. How did you fare?"

"Well enough," Thomas said again, ducking his head.

"Let me be perfectly clear," Carson said, when he had everyone's full attention. "Last night was an _exceptional_ circumstance, and will not be repeated. I do not appreciate such laxity- trust me when I say that if anybody is caught shirking their responsibilities today they will be in for a sore surprise."

When everyone nodded and murmured agreements, Carson nodded in reply, looking a bit less put out. "You should all take a page out of James's book," he went on, and Thomas felt his heart stutter in his chest. "He has been awake for an hour, tidying upstairs- which is not precisely his duty- _but_ there was no one else _available_ to help, so he made himself useful."

Bates came in with Anna and Daisy- Ivy catching up a moment later, breathless. Thomas noticed that Bates did not get any guff from Carson about _his_ lateness.

"Go on and help Mrs. Patmore so that we can all _eat_ something," Carson said to the girls. "Perferably _before_ the family wakes up."

"If they're as hungover as I am, it could be all day," Fred whispered to Thomas, who forced a half-smile in return.

"Anna," Mrs. Hughes said, across the table, "I hate to do it to you- but Miss O'Brien is not well today, so you'll have to take care of her Ladyship in addition to the others."

"That's alright, ma'am," Anna answered. "I only need to dress Lady Edith and Lady Rose for the train and pack them each a small valise, and after that they'll be in London."

"Thank you for being so flexible," Mrs. Hughes said, holding one hand to her temple carefully.

"Are you quite well?" Carson asked her, her his brows drawing down in concern.

"Yes, _quite_," She returned, a little shortly.

And then- Thomas felt as though he could not breathe from the fear of it- then _Jimmy_ came into the room, standing at attention by Mr. Carson. His gaze moved over Thomas, and he lifted his eyebrows by way of greeting. Thomas did not know if he should feel reassured.

"All of the clocks have stopped, Mr. Carson," Jimmy said, the picture of composure.

"_All_ of them?" Carson asked incredulously, and then seemed to remember the situation.

"Yes. It's a lot of work. May I take Mr. Barrow with me to help?" Jimmy asked.

Thomas felt his throat constrict.

"It's not his job," Carson said, ponderously. "But- Thomas, if you would-"

"With pleasure, sir," Thomas said, standing up. Jimmy turned and marched out of the room, and Thomas followed behind him, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

Jimmy walked in front of him, an enigma- without turning, all the way upstairs- which was utterly silent and deserted. By the time they reached the grandfather clock, Thomas felt as if he could not get a breath.

With shaking hands he pulled out his own pocketwatch, and checked it against the clock. "But this is keeping perfect time," He said, and Jimmy turned to him, looking up into his face.

"Right you are, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy said, and motioned with his hand, for Thomas to follow him. They stopped in front of a rarely-used closet that held the fourth and fifth best sets of china, and Jimmy, looking surreptitiously back and forth down the hall, pulled open the door and ducked inside. "Well, come on, then," Jimmy said, his voice a bit muffled. _You're the world's greatest fool if you do this,_ Thomas thought, and then followed him in.

It was dark in the closet, and cramped, and Thomas could barely make out the shape of the man in front of him. "Did you have something you wanted to discuss?" He asked, keeping hs voice as light as possible. Jimmy smelled strongly of peppermint and tooth powder, and leaned closer to him, so that he could almost make out his face.

"They _had_ all stopped, you know," Jimmy said. "The pictures were all crooked and the clocks had all stopped. I wound them and did everything else double time, so that _we_- so that _I_..." he stopped, and Thomas felt one of Jimmy's hands brush along his arm.

"I figured today would be the day to get away with it, if ever I could," Jimmy went on. If you were listening terrifically closely- as in, while pressed against him in a closet- Jimmy sounded a bit slurry.

"Have you been drinking?" He asked, and Jimmy laughed. "Yes. You'll have to find us something else for tonight. I've drunk all _my_ liquor, but I'll need a nip- it keeps me from being on the- on the defensive..."

Thomas felt awful, suddenly- guilt hit him like a sharp pain, making his stomach clench. "Jimmy," he said, grasping the other man's shoulder's- "You don't need to do anything_ for_ me. My feelings are my own affair, and you shouldn't concern yourself-"

"It's _my_ feelings I'm concerned with," Jimmy replied. "Just because I didn't _know_- just because I don't go flouncing about like stupid Mr. Awful-Alfred-_Lavender_-Valet- it doesn't mean that I don't-" he broke off, and reached out, catching Thomas's arm in an iron grasp.

"We should go back," Thomas said, tersely.

"They won't miss us for a half-hour and you know it," Jimmy replied, and leaned against him, taking a deep breath. "There," he said, inhaling deeply. "You're such a comfort to me, Mr. Barrow," he whispered. "Thomas, I mean. That's how I think of you. You're very suited to your name."

"You're very drunk," Thomas said, standing rigidly upright. "You need a chance to think about all this soberly."

"I was _very_ drunk an hour ago," Jimmy replied. "Now- now I'm just a _little_ drunk. And I've had a year and a half to think about all of this soberly."

Thomas wrestled with himself- half of him certain that now he would leave the china closet, and the other half positive that he would stay. But it was decided when Jimmy wound his arms round Thomas's waist. "Kiss me like you did last night," Jimmy said, suddenly, and then laughed his uneasy laugh. "I can't believe I said that."

"It's not a good idea," Thomas said, firmly.

"Please," Jimmy said, and tipped his head up, standing on his toes. His mouth brushed against Thomas's mouth. _I can't bear it,_ Thomas thought. _It's too much_.

Thomas tipped his head down, and Jimmy pressed their lips together, and then pulled back, his tongue tracing his own lower lip.

"I like the way you taste," Jimmy said, and Thomas felt a discomfiting flutter work through his ribcage.

"I've never felt like this, with anyone," Jimmy said, looking up at him quite seriously. His face had a certain peculiar quality to it that made Jimmy look as though he were always being insincere. His face was _too_ expressive, Thomas thought, if there was such a thing. He found it very attractive.

Jimmy uttered a little laugh. By now Thomas had adjusted to the darkness, and he could see Jimmy's eyes roll. "I guess it was because they were all girls," Jimmy said, looking down at the floor. "Hah. I had no idea."

"No idea?" Thomas asked, thinking of ways that he could persuade Jimmy to go back downstairs with him and wait until night to meet, like sane, _sober _people did. Thomas was envisioning what had happened: Jimmy staying awake all night, methodically getting more and more drunk, until the sun came up. It was a miracle that he could stand at all, let alone fool Carson.

"No," Jimmy said, shaking his head. "Not a bloody clue, how's that for funny?" He leaned forward again, and wrapped his arms around Thomas's waist.

"I think you're very upset right now," Thomas said, carefully. "Believe me, I understand, I do. I had a couple of bad nights myself back when I got everything sorted... and all these odd things going on adding to it. But we shouldn't-"

"Are people ever mean to you? Push you around? Because of... of how you are?" Jimmy asked, not releasing his hold on Thomas.

"Ah," Thomas said, as Jimmy hugged him tightly. "Sometimes. But-"

"I'd like to kill them," Jimmy said, his face registering anger. "Every last one of the bastards that have ever given you grief."

Thomas considered replying that he had given back his share of grief, and that Jimmy had _been_ one of those bastards for quite a while, but settled on diplomacy. "That's very nice of you to say," He answered, and Jimmy scowled at him.

"Don't _patronize _me," Jimmy said, putting the palms of his hands flat against Thomas's lower back. "I thought about how much I wanted to do this all night," Jimmy muttered. He had his face almost buried in Thomas's chest. Thomas could feel Jimmy's nose pressing against his breastbone. "But I'm too much a coward to do it on my own. That's why I left you at the fair. I'm a lousy coward."

"Well," Thomas said. "Maybe tonight-"

"Sod _tonight_," Jimmy said, and stood up, kissing Thomas again. He placed his hands gently against the sides of Thomas's neck, and kissed him experimentally, as he had the night before- first Thomas's upper lip, and then his lower one. "You _want_ me," Jimmy said, pulling back. Thomas could feel Jimmy's chest rising and falling rapidly against him.

"Yes," Thomas said. He bowed forward- as if he were not under his own power, but moving according to directives issued by his body- and kissed Jimmy's cheek, and then his mouth, which was minty with a secret undertaste of alcohol.

Jimmy ran his tongue over the place on Thomas's lower lip where he had a small scar, and Thomas felt the action go right to his stomach, making it twist with desire. Jimmy's gold-toned skin was flushed. "Uhm, mmmmm," Jimmy said, into Thomas's mouth, and pressed their bodies together in a way that made Thomas draw a raggedy breath. "_Ah_-" He hissed, against Jimmy's lips.

Jimmy broke off the kiss, taking a gulp of air, and then returned to it. Thomas kissed him back, going no farther than Jimmy went, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He fought to maintain some semblance of control. Jimmy leaned away from him again, breathing quickly.

"Are you going to forever think I'll scream '_rape_' if you touch me?" Jimmy asked.

"No," Thomas said, grateful that Jimmy had stopped, so that he could recover his train of thought. "I just don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with, because..."

_Because you're drunk_, He was going to say, but Jimmy fixed his with his too-bright gaze, and said "Because you're in love with me?"

Thomas paused. That was a true enough reason- it all went back to that, didn't it? How many times had he gone to bed with someone who had been stinking drunk without so much as the slightest twinge of guilt? "I think so, yes." Thomas said, and Jimmy nodded to himself.

"Yes," Jimmy said, and stepped forward, pushing even further into Thomas's space, so that his legs were between Thomas's and their hips were pressed together. Jimmy's hands had developed little lives of their own, and they traced up and down Thomas's abdomen and through his hair.

"Tell me," Jimmy said, and rubbed himself against Thomas. "Augh, _hell_," Jimmy ground out, his face tight with pleasure.

Thomas rocked back and forth with Jimmy for a few moments, using all of his willpower not to grab Jimmy by the waist and thrust against him. He tried to catch his breath, a chorus resounding in his head like many bells: _Keep control of yourself keep control of yourself, Thomas, keep control of yourself keep control-_

"Tell me," Jimmy said again. His eyes were shut. Thomas understood. The sensation was almost too much to bear.

"Tell you what?" Thomas asked. His voice sounded rough in his own ears.

"That you love me," Jimmy said, moving with that same slow insistence against Thomas.

Thomas bit his lip to keep his mind straight, but it bought him only seconds of clarity. "I love you, Jimmy," he said, placing a kiss on Jimmy's neck. His hands were still clenched at his sides. "I love you terribly."

"God-" Jimmy said, moving faster, and then Thomas grabbed him, pushing him back a step. Jimmy was much smaller than Thomas but quite strong, and he shoved back against Thomas as though he were in a prizefight. "_Don't_-" he said, pushing at Thomas's hands. "Don't _stop_, why would you _stop_?" He said, incredulously.

"_I_ need to stop before I embarrass myself," Thomas said, taking a deep breath. He tried to fix his tie with hands that trembled with desire. "Give me a moment, please," he said, when Jimmy reached up to fix Thomas's tie himself.

Jimmy took his hand away, but only to rub his thumb along Thomas's mouth. Thomas turned his head to kiss Jimmy's fingers.

"Stop," he said after a second, turning his face away. "Jimmy, you have to stop."

"Alright, I'm stopping," Jimmy said, breathlessly, and started to fix his uniform. "Damn," He cursed, under his breath, and looked up at Thomas. "Tell me about something really disgusting."

"O'Brien, nude," Thomas said, immediately, and they both laughed. "That might actually _do_ it, thanks," Jimmy said, snickering. He produced a comb from his pocket. "I'll do yours if you'll do mine," he said, gesturing to his disheveled head.

Thomas smirked. "Quite the offer," He said, and Jimmy grinned, reaching up with the comb. "I hate your hair slicked down, you look like a serial murderer," He declared.

"Well, I hate your hair all of the time," Thomas lied.

"You don't," Jimmy said. "I have excellent style."

"It's ridiculous, really," Thomas went on. "And when I think of all the unkind things you've said about poor Fred- and _you're_ the one walking around with _that_ hair-"

Jimmy feigned hitting him, and Thomas laughed. Then he grew quite serious. "I'm going to leave first, and then, if the hall's clear, I'll open the door for you and you can come after."

"No," Jimmy said, firmly. "We'll go together. We sink or swim together, Thomas, we've been on opposite sides much too much already."

"I'm always on your side, Jimmy," Thomas said, before he could help himself, and Jimmy smiled at him. "You're a bit sentimental over me, aren't you?" Jimmy asked, and handed Thomas his comb. "There," Jimmy said, "You look perfect. Now me."

Thomas smoothed down Jimmy's hair and Jimmy stared at him all the while. "How old are you, Thomas?" He asked. His hand came up, fingers lightly tracing Thomas's wrist.

"Thirty-three," Thomas answered, stepping back. "You'll do."

"It's funny, but you seem like you've done so much," Jimmy said, and opened the door. Thomas braced himself for a pair of unwanted eyes witnessing their departure, but the rooms remained eerily still. "I thought you'd be older than that."

"Thanks very much," Thomas said, sarcastically. "And how old are you, youngling?"

"Twenty-six yesterday," Jimmy answered, checking the clocks surreptitiously as they walked by them.

"Yesterday?" Thomas asked. "But I didn't-"

"Yeah, I didn't remember until I was back in my room," Jimmy answered. "Still," He added, and looked up at Thomas with a smile playing around the corners of his mouth- "It was the best birthday I can recall, Mr. Barrow."

"That's because you were drunk for most of it," Thomas said, and Jimmy laughed. They went back downstairs, where bells had _still_ not begun to ring. Thomas had an eerie idea that perhaps the family had disappeared, and they were playing servants to a bunch of empty rooms.

"Everything is taken care of, I hope?" Carson asked, and Thomas nodded. "Do you want me to serve breakfast today?" He asked, but Carson shook his head. "You'll have to get the boys to help you about the windows."

_Yeah, don't _you _do anything, you old sod_, Thomas thought, but nodded an affirmative. "Yes, sir."

"And have them check all of the closed rooms for anything... out of _place_," Carson went on. "I don't want things moved around that we're discovering months later."

"Mr. Carson," Alfred piped up, "What's to stop the spirits from moving things again as soon as we fix them?"

"Nobody had said _anything _about _spirits,_" Carson growled, blatantly lying, in Thomas's opinion. Everyone had said quite a good deal about spirits. Thomas saw Jimmy standing up on the other side of the hall. He looked quite unsteady.

Thomas sent Alfred off with the hallboys and Carson disappeared upstairs at the behest of his Lordship. "Wait for a moment, James," He said, when Jimmy made to follow Alfred, and gestured him into the kitchens.

"Mrs. Patmore," He said, "Jimmy's not feeling quite well, and we missed breakfast. Could you spare something for him?"

"Hungover, hm?" Mrs. Patmore asked, studying Jimmy's worn expression. "Get him a slice of that bread," She told Thomas, who did, adding to it a glass of water." Jimmy took the food and drink with a mildly nauseous expression. "I don't-"

"Eat it," Thomas said, as Mrs. Patmore said over him, "Eat it, if you want to feel any better. Mrs. Hughes and I had practically a loaf between us not an hour ago. Soaks up the alcohol."

"Our Jimmy had a birthday yesterday," Thomas said, and Ivy paused in her cooking to look across to Jimmy, a smile on her lips. 'Is that so, Jimmy?" She asked. "And you didn't say anything?"

"Well, I-" Jimmy replied, through a mouthful of bread.

"No, we should do _something_ for you," Ivy said. "It's sad not to celebrate or anything."

Jimmy shot Thomas a nasty look, and Thomas looked back at him placidly. "Yes, you should celebrate," he replied, smirking. "I wonder what you'd like to do?"

"We could go to the pictures or something?" Ivy put in, a blush growing on her cheeks.

"Not until after the Ambassador leaves, you won't," Mrs. Patmore said.

Daisy gasped behind them, and Thomas turned, to see a serving tray slide of its own accord across the counter. "Oh!" Ivy shrieked, and jumped away as if burned.

"That's quite enough of that," Mrs. Patmore said irritably, and grabbed the tray. "How a soul's supposed to get any work done like this I don't know."

Jimmy looked a bit steadier on his feet, and Thomas walked by him. "Come up when you're finished," He said, all business. Jimmy gave him a look that made his heart skip a beat, but only nodded minutely, chewing.

Upstairs Carson took him aside in the hall. "Lady Grantham is expecting a _guest_ in the early afternoon," he said. Thomas had never heard him use such a distasteful tone to descibe _any_ guest of the family before. "See to it that a room gets made up, please."

"Who are we expecting, Mr. Carson?' Thomas asked.

"A Madame Nicodème," Carson said, as though it pained him greatly. "She is a... friend of Lady D'Abernon, and a _medium_ by profession."

"Is she coming to rid the house of ghosts, then?" Thomas asked, knowing that the question would agitate Carson to no end.

"So she says," Carson answered, gruffly. "Regardless of her _position_, I want her to have a proper reception. Have everyone ready by two o'clock."

"Yes, sir," Thomas said, not letting his amusement show on his face.

He spent another hour closing windows, until his hand ached unbearably, and then went downstairs to prepare everyone for the arrival of the medium.

"Have Lady Edith and Lady Rose left?" He asked Anna, when he saw her. She nodded. "On the third train instead of the first, but they're gone now," Anna said. "I must say I wish that Mr. Bates and I were joining them."

"What _do_ you think about it all?" Thomas asked her.

"I don't know," Anna said. "But I do believe in God, and so I suppose that means I believe that there's something... _religious _about this, be it evil or divine." She sighed. "Things don't happen for _no _reason. What do you think?"

"I think there's probably a scientific explanation," Thomas said, and Anna rolled her eyes at him. "I never thought I'd say this, but you sound like Mr. Bates," She returned, shaking her head.

"That's high praise coming from you, _Mrs_. Bates," Thomas answered, tipping an invisible hat to her. Anna laughed. "What can I say?" Thomas asked, spinning around neatly. "I'm an irresistible sort of fellow."

Anna considered him seriously for a moment. "Something's put you in a better mood," She said. "I'm glad. What is it?"

"It'll have to keep for later," Thomas replied, although the idea of bending Anna's ear about his affairs the way he had once done with O'Brien seemed unfathomable.

"Yes, you do look much happier than usual, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy said, appearing behind them. "I suppose it means a lighter workload for us all, yes?"

"Don't you wish," Thomas said. "Are you quite recovered, James?" He said, walking by him. "We can't have you vomiting on the medium."

"I think so," Jimmy said.

Thomas did his job with a feeling of lightness that he had never felt the equal of: he moved with the kind of grace brought on by happiness, he caught a figurine that leapt off a shelf as Lord Grantham passed by it, quite neatly- he had everything well in hand- and it was _easy_, and it was _fun_.

At two o'clock the staff lined up outside. Thomas purposely kept his eyes off Jimmy, which was difficult. He did it as a sort of test, a game he had played futilely with himself for more than a year- _How long can you go without looking at him? Without speaking to him? Without thinking about him?_

It was a game played to be lost, because he could not go very long between any of those things- well, he could probably have gone a good amount of time without _speaking _to Jimmy in the months after their- _misunderstanding-_ but the nature of his position meant that he had to speak with the footmen, if only to give orders. And trying not to think of him was a miserable failure, and trying not to look at him was a task Thomas met with only slightly more success.

But now, for the first time that Thomas could remember, it seemed that he had been right about something. Jimmy _had_ hated him, been angry with him, rejected him, even- but it was because Thomas had made him aware of things he hadn't known about himself. Thomas could understand not wanting to know certain aspects of one's own person. And now- could everything possibly work out? Did anything _ever_ really work out?

Thomas was trying, he knew, and failing, to refrain from hope and happiness. That was dangerous, and things were tenuous.

Then the sound of a motor came up the road, and everyone straightened imperceptibly in their clothing, and Lord and Lady Grantham and their guests came sweeping out, all imperiously, which was actually quite funny if you knew that they had spent the day being afraid of their own common household items. Nothing as- _large_ in scale as the previous evening's dinner festivities had happened, but little oddities- strange _movements_- never ceased, making everyone rather on edge.

Beside him, he heard it: the collective surprise, shown only through movements and half-sounds, of the staff, as the motor came into view. It was black, and looked like the taxis that Thomas had seen in London- its side was dented in quite badly, and it was painted with an elaborate design of golden swirls. "_There _she is!" Lady D'Abernon said, as though it weren't quite obvious.

The automobile pulled to a halt suddenly and too close to everyone, send gravel up in a spray. And then- strangest of all!- a woman was getting out of the front passenger's side, before anyone could reach the door to open it for her.

"Helen, _darling_!" The woman- obviously the medium- cried, getting out of the ridiculous motor, and ran lightly up the steps, to embrace the Ambassador's wife. They kissed each other on both cheeks, and then she turned.

"Cora, this is Madame Franseza Elio Nicodème. Fancy, this is Lady Cora Grantham, and her husband, Lord Robert Grantham-"

"It's a pleasure," Lady Grantham said. Lord Grantham looked as though it were anything but.

Thomas took the woman in. She was about his age, and dressed in an old-fashioned black dress with a full skirt, and a number of gaudy shawls, all brightly colored, were wrapped around her shoulders and waist. On her head was a man's tophat. Her small face seemed to be dominated by her eyes. She wore her hair completely loose, and it curled out wildly in a huge halo around her head.

With vigorous enthusiasm Madame Nicodème shook Lord Grantham's hand. "A pleasure, Lord Robert," She said, smiling at him. "You don't like me. Ah, well, they never do!" Who _they_ were was not exactly clear.

"On the contrary, Madame, I do not know you," Lord Grantham said, diplomatically. "You should just consider me a skeptic."

"Oh," Madame Nicodème said, and gestured to the car. "And you should all meet my chauffeur and assistant, Miss Abernathy."

The driver was a woman, and she was getting out of the car. Her uniform was the uniform of a man. Her face young young and pretty, but her expression was grim. _Ah,_ Thomas thought, _bohemians_.

The medium was making Lord and Lady Grantham shake hands with her chauffeur. Thomas watched it, trying to maintain a straight face. _Well, they must be used to it by now, after Branson_, He thought, and then the medium came over to the _servants_, and began introducing herself.

"Madame Nicodème, at your service," She said, extending her small hand to Carson. Thomas thought Carson would die right on the spot, but, after an eternity, he reached out and shook her hand once in return. "Mr. Carson," He said, in his darkest voice.

Thomas thought he was going to laugh no matter how bad it would seem, and glanced over at Jimmy, trying to catch his eye. But Jimmy didn't notice him- he looked far away, and tired. _Someone's sobered up_, Thomas thought, and then Madame Nicodème was introducing herself to him.

"Oh, you have a great deal of activity around you!" She said to him, brightly. Her voice was high pitched, and each sentence she uttered became an exclamation.

"Oh, yes?" Thomas asked. "Yes," She answered, smiling. "Mr...?"

"Barrow. Thomas Barrow, at your service," Thomas said, and smiled back.

"Well, Mr. Barrow, are you married?" She asked, leaning in to question him in a whisper.

"Ah- no, Madame, I am not."

"I thought not!" She returned, quietly but rather excitedly, and nodded at him quite vigorously under her hat. "Don't worry," she said, "we're all in this together, aren't we?"

"Pardon?" Thomas asked, but she had already moved on to Bates, who looked as amused as Thomas felt.

"A pleasure, Madame," Bates said.

"And you, Mr. Bates, I take _you _for a married man," The medium said, to which Bates nodded. "And a happily married one, at that!" Madame Nicodème chuckled to herself and moved further down the line.

When she had shaken hands with every last person on the steps- excepting the Ambassador, who had taken his cigar and wandered off somewhere- she pulled off her hat and handed it to her chauffeur, who went back to the car. "Well," Madame Nicodème said, putting her hands against her hips, "We should begin, shouldn't we?"

"Begin _what_?" Lord Grantham asked. He looked positively put out.

"The _séance_!" replied the medium.

"Oh, the séance, of course," Lord Grantham said, with enough sarcasm that Lady Grantham put her hand quite firmly upon his arm.

They all filed inside. Thomas, walking out of the room, caught a brief glimpse of Madame Nicodème admiring a painting as it spun in a slow circle around on the wall.

"This is a haunting of some magnitude," She said, sounding rather pleased about it.

Lady Grantham made an announcement: that every last member of Downton should present themselves in the hall. Thomas went up with everyone else, watching Jimmy as he found his place next to Alfred. In the very back of the room Daisy stood with Ivy and Mrs. Patmore; they blinked in the sunlight like subterranean creatures. Lady Mary had shown up. Even the babies were in attendance. The only ones missing were Lady Edith and Lady Rose, O'Brien, and the dead. _Or perhaps not_, Thomas thought.

That slow feeling of unreality washed over Thomas: he had never seen anything like this in all his years. Lady Grantham stood with her hands clasped, smiling politely, as she waited for everyone to enter. A vase of flowers tumbled over on one of the tables, a fifth as slowly as seemed possible based on the laws of gravity- the maids had time to rush over and gather it up before it hit the floor. Thomas admired their courage- after a few bouts of screaming they had resumed business as usual.

"As you all know," Lady Grantham said, her accented voice never seeming very loud, but always managing to carry to the edges of the room- "We have been experiencing a number of _strange_ things here for the last few days." She paused, looking over her shoulder, to her husband.

"Some people think that the cause is practical, and some think it is spiritual," She went on. "But whatever the cause, we are _all_ affected by it. At dusk we are going to hold a seance in this hall, and you are all invited to attend. Madame Nicodème thinks it is as important for the staff to be here as it is for my family to be here. If any of you have religious or personal beliefs that run against this, or simply do not _want_ to attend, I want you to know that you are under no obligation to do so. That is all." She smiled, stepping back. "Thank you."

"And bring a personal object with you!" Madame Nicodème called out, from behind her. "Something that's meaningful to you! It will help to channel the energies!"

"My God," Lord Grantham said, under his breath. Thomas was close enough to him that he could hear it.

"You've just got to put up with it, Robert," Lord D'Abernon said, clapping him on the back.

Dinner was suspended. Everyone would have one of those cold picnics- while Thomas and the footmen and the hall boys rearranged the main hall to Madame Nicodème's specifications.

"Now, put the table here," She said, gesturing wildly. "There. Yes. And more leaves in it. We'll have a lot of people sitting round it. Do you want me to help carry? Oh, I'll get Miss Abernathy-"

The chauffeur came to help move furniture.

"Will you go?" Thomas overheard Alfred asking Jimmy.

"Yes," Jimmy said, in an undertone. His voice was quite determined. "I have to-" he didn't finish the sentence, but Thomas knew why: he thought ghosts were blackmailing him.

"I wouldn't miss it, meself," Alfred replied, handing Jimmy a chair. "It's bound to be exciting."

"Or a sham," One of the others said. "I shouldn't think so," Alfred said, shaking his head. "I mean, things are really moving _around_, aren't they? I had to hold still a _wineglass_ that had gotten a mind of its own earlier-"

Carson insisted he would not go. Thomas could hear bits and pieces of him arguing with Mrs. Hughes about it, while he went back and forth from upstairs to down.

By the time they had finished, the sun was low on the rim of the horizon. "Miss Abernathy and I will light the candles. You all go and select your personal items, and clear your heads, and I'll see you when the sun goes down," The medium said, in her bright little voice.

Thomas went to his room and stood in front of his dresser, trying to decide what to bring with him. He had his pocketwatch with him, as always, and that was special enough, but perhaps he should bring something different.

_You're being ridiculous, even acting as though this nonsense could be meaningful,_ he thought, and at the same time, in the way of conflict that one can only have in their own head, he thought _of course something is going on, _and_ it's obvious, of course,_ and _no, it isn't-_ and on and on, his thoughts tossed about in a ceaseless back-and forth. "I was of two minds about it," Thomas said to himself, in the mirror, and then opened the dresser drawers.

He couldn't decide whether to bring his photo of Lieutenant Courtenay or his mother's locket, and put them both down on his vanity, to stare at them. In his mind, Jimmy said _"Kiss me again, like you did last night_."

Which was ridiculous, of course. Thomas knew better than to ever try to kiss Jimmy again. It was Jimmy who had kissed _him._ He sighed, and ran one hand through his hair, mussing it, and then pulled Jimmy's necktie out of his locked drawer and stowed it in his breast pocket.

The staff all paused in the hall before they went up together- mostly, they were co-workers, but Thomas thought they had never seemed so much like a family as they did in that moment. Mrs. Patmore tucked a photograph into her apron. Many people had brought photographs, Thomas saw, but there were odd things, too: Molesley had a chipped teacup in his (trembling) hand; Anna was holding what looked like a yard of lace.

"Be careful with that, what if it breaks?" Mrs. Hughes was saying, about the teacup. "I'll keep it in my pocket," Molesley said, wrapping the cup in a hand towel and putting it away in his coat as though it were the crown jewels.

"And what did you bring, Mr. Carson?" Mrs. Patmore asked, her eyes crinkling up in amusement.

"I brought _nothing_," Carson said. "The only reason I am attending this travesty at _all_ is because Lady Mary pleaded with me for a quarter of an hour. I do not believe-"

The piano erupted in a riotous variation on the piece by Chopin that Jimmy had played for Thomas, and Mr. Carson stopped speaking abruptly. "Well!" Mrs. Hughes yelled, over the music. "I believe that everyone who wants to go is here! Let's go upstairs!"

O'Brien was still not in evidence. Thomas felt a frisson of worry for her course through his mind, and dismissed himself as a fool. The wretched woman would not have wasted a second's worry on _him_.

Jimmy was not there, either, and Thomas was going to hang back and go fetch him when he came running down to join the crowd, looking very tired. He barely gave the piano-that-played-itself a glance. Against his chest, in his hands, he clutched a metronome.

Thomas tried to catch his eye, but Jimmy looked everywhere and nowhere and not at him, with wide, sleepless eyes.

They all entered the hall in a crowd- in an _organized_ crowd- they were _all_, after all, in their professions because of a certain skill set- and Thomas saw the hall as though it were a land in a dream. There were hundreds of candles, blooming on every surface and in the candleabras that had been brought in. The outside was almost dark, and Thomas could feel a draft coming from somewhere, but not one flame flickered.

The dining room table, draped in a heavy cloth, boasted still more candles, and a censer that spouted incense in foggy bursts. In the center of all of this sat a crystal ball- like the most cliche image Thomas had ever seen of a magic parlour.

The meduim sat behind it, gesturing at both the servants and the family alike. "Come, come, sit down!" She yelled across the room. "Lady Grantham, you may sit _there_," She pointed, "And Lord Grantham, you go over with Edgar and the other nonbelievers-" She pointed to the Ambassador.

The family sat at the dining room table. _Everyone_ had come. Mrs. Crawley had come. The Dowager Countess, had, shockingly, decided to sit in on the proceedings "Because of a _dream _I had, of all the nonsense," Thomas had heard her saying to Lord Grantham, as she sat next to him. Miss Abernathy stood in a doorway, apart from the circle. The medium sat Branson to her left and Lady Mary to her right, and then, satisfied with the table, stood up and moved over to the servants.

"Now," Madame Nicodème said, coming in front of the table and speaking to the staff at large, "I want you to all join hands! Form a circle around the table!"

Everyone began to clasp hands, talking amongst themselves, and Thomas looked to Jimmy, who had fallen into position next to him, and offered him his hand. Jimmy looked up at him, one arm cradling the metronome, his face curiously blank, and, without speaking, stepped back away from him a bit, so that Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore wound up between them.

Thomas felt something twist in his chest. _Ah_, he thought, _here we go._

He had Anna clasp his right hand, and smile at him a bit anxiously. Bates was on her other side. "I'm not hurting you, am I?" Mrs. Hughes asked, as she caught hold of his left hand.

"Not a bit," Thomas answered, looking past her, at Jimmy, who set his metronome down at his feet and held hands with Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore.

"I _will_ not," Mr. Carson was telling the medium, from the other side of the room. "I agreed to come up here, but I refuse to _participate_."

"Oh, well, come and stand by Miss Abernathy, then," Madame Nicodème said, apparently unruffled.

"Now," She said, when they were all in a circle, hands joined, with the smaller circle of the table within, "We may begin. First,"- She took a breath as though the thrill of it were all too much to take- "I want to _explain_ to you all what I believe is going on." Madame Nicodème took a seat, but did not join hands with Branson and Lady Mary.

"Sometimes," She said, speaking loudly enough to be clearly heard by everyone, "The veil between the worlds can be breached. Not as often as people say it might. It takes a powerful spirit with a powerful purpose to press back through to this place- which I imagine seems so flat and- _one-dimensional_ compared to things in the next realm. Spirits can no longer think in our limited terms. They speak through actions, through _dreams-_" One hand swept the air around her head in a theatrical gesture. Thomas tried to force his mind away from Jimmy, and stared at her raptly.

"-But they are often _misunderstood_," Madame Nicodème went on. "And when one spirit is strong enough to reach a place, they may draw other spirits with them, giving them purpose- giving them _power_- and creating a _haunting_. That is what I think has happened here." She took a deep breath, and reached her hands out to complete the inner circle. "Now. I would ask everybody to concentrate. We are going to begin."

It was now fully dark outside, and it seemed to Thomas to get darker still as she began to speak, throwing her head up, and reciting an incantation in her clear, high voice:

"Dhe, teasruig an tigh, an teine, 's an tan,

Gach aon ta gabhail tamh an seo an nochd.

Teasruig mi fein's mo chroilean graidh,

Is gleidh sinn bho lamh's bho lochd;

Gleidh sinn bho namh an nochd,

Air sgath Mhic Mhuire Mhathar

'S an ait-s's gach ait a bheil an tamh an nochd,

Air an oidhche nochd's gach aon oidhche.

An oidhche nochd's gach aon oidhche,"

She said, and half of the candles guttered out. People gasped. The crystal ball now seemed possessed of a strange luminescence. _It's a trick,_ thought Thomas._ She and her assistant lit the candles. There's a light or some kind of motor hidden under the table, she's an illusionist, like Harry Houdini-_

There was silence for several moments, with everyone breathing and waiting for something to happen, and Thomas felt disappointed. This was it, then, and it was sadly anticlimactic. He had expected, thunder, lightning, firecrackers- and then, all of a sudden, the necktie tucked into his pocket pulled out of its own accord, floating up into the air above his head. He looked around, and saw Jimmy looking worriedly up at his metronome, which had floated so high that it was out of his reach, Mrs. Hughes with her mouth a small _o_ of surprise, staring up at a journal,Anna with a halo of lace stretched out just over her head, Fred with a photograph floating behind him, Molesley, breaking the circle to make frantic grabs at the teacup that danced around the tips of his fingers-

Madame Nicodème's mouth opened wide, and she began to speak- but her lips did not move, and her body convulsed slightly. The voice she spoke in was many voices, and it was not loud, but so close that Thomas felt as though it was whispered into his ears-

_"I'm sorry, Auntie, but I was so frightened-" _The medium said, and Thomas saw clearly that her eyes had rolled up into the back of her head, so that only the whites showed. "_Violet, oh, Violet, I love you, do you remember that day in the orchard? -But you _are _a good person, to me, Mary -If we never married each other, my father would have no one -What good's a word if there's no one there to say it?- -Couldn't we dance again? -If we all die, I'm glad I died _that _way- And then, Isobel, I wondered where we- Oh, mother, don't cry! It isn't his fault!- Not _then,_ Elsie, but _now- _I never lived! I never breathed!- I miss you, Uncle-_"

All the possessions that had been brought fell to the ground- Thomas saw Molesley catch the teacup out of the air with relfexes he would have never thought possible in the man- and he looked to his left, to make sure that Jimmy's metronome had not been broken, but Jimmy was setting it down at his feet. Lady Mary's little stuffed animal fell last, and tumbled off of the table. Lady D'Abernon picked it up and gave it back to her, and then joined hands again.

"There are many spirits here," Madame Nicodème said, in her regular voice. She sounded slightly out of breath, and her hair was being blown back by a wind. Thomas could _feel_ it, not a draft but an actual _wind_, blowing through the room without extinguishing the remaining candles.

"I would like everyone to hum," The medium said, demonstrating herself. "Mmmmm. I am going to try to give you individual messages, but it is rather difficult, so I could use all of the help I can get."

_It was a recording of voices_, Thomas thought, but he also thought:_ This is really happening._

He didn't hum, but it seemed that everybody else did (except, probably, Lord Grantham, or Carson- and he couldn't imagine the Dowager Countess lowering herself to hum), and the air was filled with the strange sound, a sound that made Thomas think of temples in far-off lands.

Madame Nicodème's head dropped forward, and a voice that was her own and yet not hers whispered in the ears of everyone together and yet individually.

_"Hello, mother. Hello, Mary," _It said, and Thomas would be damned if he didn't hear a trace of Matthew Crawley in it, calling up in his mind sudden memories of trenches and dying men- _"Mary, you must be yourself, darling. I love you and I know...I know you looked, when we kissed- _I_ know your ways...before our wedding day- I wanted to tell you, I'll always love that about you- but you have to get out of this ravine where you've lay down with me to die-"_

"That's quite enough!" Lord Grantham said, sounding outraged. His voice sounded quite small against the medium's. "For heaven's sakes, be _quiet_, Robert," Said the Dowager, reclasping his hand.

"I can't live without you," Lady Mary said. Thomas saw that she had turned her face to Madame Nicodème's. She looked as somber as a statue."I don't know how. I thought I could live for the baby, but it isn't enough."

Thomas felt embarrassed to be witnessing something so personal, but Mary spoke to the other woman unselfconsciously, as though she believed implicitly. It wasn't in keeping with Thomas's knowledge of her. He wondered what sort of things she had experienced recently.

_"-But you must, my darling, and I know you won't listen to me,"_ Came the voice. _"If you die, I'll stay away... for at least _one _eternity... just so you can't think- that you can give up and die... and get to be with me- you have to _live_, you have to _live_, how I would have loved to live with you-"_

"But that's not _fair!_" Lady Mary said, and clutched her stuffed animal. She bent over, half sobbing, as undone as Thomas had ever seen her, or could have imagined her being. Madame Nicodème wrapped both of her arms around Lady Mary in an embrace. "There, there, my dear," She said, soothingly, without any hint of the supernatural in her voice. "You're so lucky, to have the love of a man like that-"

Thomas averted his eyes, feeling intrusive, but after a moment Lady Mary regained her composure, and the medium sat back up. "There's much more here," She said. "Please hum for me again." The wind picked back up, and Thomas shivered.

_"Oh, my darlings!" _Came the voice, and Thomas would have known that one anywhere- it was Lady Sybil. _"I'm fine and well Tom and so proud of you my darling you're such a good father good man love you mother love you sisters love you father and it's so _beautiful _here! So many things have turned out as they should! I hope you know-" _So on the words poured, as if the speaker were so eager to communicate that her words tumbled into one continuous stream.

And in his own ear, Sybil's voice came in a private whisper, apart from the din- _"Thomas, my dear friend, I love you- the Lieutenant is here with me-"_ And then it was gone, as if Thomas had imagined it. The voice went on, over everything else- _"And I want to show you all how wonderful, how _beautiful_ it can be - if only you look-"_

Thomas felt an unbearable lightness spread through him, from his feet up, and then his shoes were dargging away from the floor, and he was _up_, lifted into the air, his heart pounding- Mrs. Hughes was lifting into the air next to him, their hands still clasped- Anna, airborne, spun away into Bates's arms, in a slow waltz- the Granthams lifted off of their chairs- Carson, grabbing on to a doorframe, was pulled up against his will, and Miss Abernathy, her stony face never changing, was lifted softly upwards, her feet- clad in men's shoes- pointing down as if she were in mid-pirouette. Only Madame Nicodème remained tethered by gravity, her arms upstretched to keep hold of the hands of Branson and Lady Mary as they floated. Every candle that had gone out bloomed back into fiery life. The crystal ball glowed as orange the harvest moon.

Thomas turned his head, and looked at Jimmy, and found Jimmy's eyes already on him. His face was twisted into a frown of concerted effort. Somewhere, underneath all the sounds, he could hear the ticking of the metronome, keeping beat for Chopin's third sonata. Thomas felt as though he were full of a joy so intense he could die of it, as if he had swallowed millions of pinpricks of light. _God help me,_ he thought, _I love you, I do-_

And then both the voice and the sensation were gone and he was stumbling to the ground, trying to catch himself. Jimmy had fallen flat, but looked around, unharmed. By some miracle the cripples among them- namely Bates and the Dowager Countess- were not injured as they fell. Gently Thomas helped Mrs. Hughes up and brushed off her skirt for her. "Alright?" he asked her, but she could only nod, tears in her eyes. "Oh, Thomas," She said, in a reverent whisper, "I felt so..."

Thomas nodded, and Madame Nicodème rose from her chair, spots of color high on her cheeks. "You may break the circle now," she said (although they had broken it some several times, Thomas thought) - "And I would like to come round and deliver some personal messages to each of you."

Lord Grantham recovered himself first. "And will all of these strange occurrences _stop _now?" he asked, but even from across the room Thomas could see that his eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"Not right away, but soon," The medium said, nodding happily. "I'd say within a day, two at most."

"But I thought that this... _seance_ was supposed to _fix_ everything," Lord Grantham said. Beside him, Lord D'Abernathy was lighting a cigar. Thomas ached for a cigarette.

"And so it will, by helping us to _understand_," Madame Nicodème replied, as though he were a touch slow. "Now, if you'll allow me, my Lord-" And she leaned forward and whispered in his ear for a long moment.

"Okay," Thomas heard Bates saying to Anna. "I'll reconsider." Anna laughed, sounding not at all afraid.

"But how could you-" Lord Grantham said, loudly, and then the medium whispered to him again, until a tear ran down his face and she stopped, touching him gently on the shoulder. They had begun to talk amongst themselves as she worked her way around to each of them, all quite stunned in the aftermath of it. "I don't _know_ what it was-" Alfred was saying. Daisy looked as if she would faint, and then the medium alighted next to her, speaking with her for a long moment, and her eyes grew wider still.

Jimmy would not look at Thomas again- he had eyes only for his metronome, which he stared at as if it could answer whatever questions the séance had raised for him- and Thomas felt the strange joy that he'd been infused with diminish. _At least I had you for a day and a night_, Thomas thought. _And it was quite magical, really_. He winced at his own stupid sentimentality, and heard the medium saying to Bates- "That awful woman won't bother you any more-"

Madame Nicodème whispered to Anna and then stopped in front of Thomas.

"Well," She said, lowering her voice so that it was inaudible to anyone except them. "Aren't you a favorite son."

"I don't think so, Madame," Thomas said.

"Hmm," The medium said, tilting her head to the side. "I didn't want to say it in front of everyone," She whispered, conspiratorally- "I thought it might make things difficult- the workplace is always _such _a delicate environment- but your dear blind Lieutenant is the one who managed to break the veil. He's trying to help you." At Thomas's flabbergasted expression, she added "It takes a great love to manage _that_."

"What?" Thomas asked, too much at a loss to say anything else.

"He has a message for you," Madame Nicodème said. "Do you want to hear it?"

Thomas nodded, dumbly. _How could she have known_?

At once, she grabbed his shoulders, standing up on her toes, speaking in a quiet but utterly different tone, one that brought tears to Thomas's eyes. _"Thomas," _She said, "_If the world is not kind, I want to help you make you a home in it that _is_ kind, and less ungenerous than the world can be. You gave me your eyes- and now that I can _see_- I shall give you mine, as the only recompense I can offer for abandoning you. See how he loves you. I promise that you will not be alone."_

Madame Nicodème leaned forward even further, and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. _"My love," _She whispered, _"Even as I bled I thought of you. I think of you always, though you are lost to me... the wound, the wine, the lovers, the _lies_- you are who you are, and no mistake. And I love you for it. And so does he."_

Thomas dropped his head against the medium's thin shoulder, embracing her, and closed his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered, overwhelmed by emotion. He felt his throat get tight, and realized with horror that he was going to cry. Madame Nicodème squeezed him tight, and then dropped her arms- and Thomas realized that their display, not heard but _seen_- had drawn everyone's attention. Jimmy stared at them with a curiosity so intense that it looked as though he was trying to burn a hole into the very air bewteen them.

Thomas wiped his eyes with his right hand and flashed the watchers a tight smile. Across the room, the Dowager Countess was patting Mr. Branson on the shoulder.

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes! You are _Elsie_, are you not?" Madame Nicodème said, and whispered intensively to her. When she had done, she walked past Jimmy, stopping in front of Mrs. Patmore.

"Hey!" Jimmy said, indignantly. "What about me?"

"Oh?" The medium said, turning to look at him. "Oh," She said, again. "You're James-who-prefers-Jimmy, right?"

Jimmy nodded, tightly.

"Yes, I have a message for you," Madame Nicodème said. "It is- _ahem_- 'Straighten up and fly right- or else you'll get the beating you _deserve_.'"

"What?" Jimmy asked. "What?"

But Madame Nicodème turned away and was speaking to Mrs. Patmore. The family and guests had begun to file out.

"Alright, everybody," Carson barked, over the din. "Let's clean this mess up!"

* * *

Thomas couldn't find Jimmy to help them move furniture, and he asked Carson. "Have you seen James?"

"James?" Carson asked. He seemed a bit distracted- _probably from having his view of the universe shattered over his fat head_, Thomas thought. "Oh, yes, James," Carson answered. "James is not feeling well, and I gave him permission to go to bed. I can hardly blame him myself. I hope you can manage without him."

"Oh, certainly," Thomas said- but he remembered the empty look Jimmy had given him, and felt a pain in his chest that was not physical. _He can't handle it_, Thomas thought_, Unless he's drunk. Or maybe only then can he feign desire, as he thought he was supposed to do, because of guilt or the dreams_-

He didn't know, but he worked as quickly as he could, and then snuck outside, to smoke in the frigid air, against a jeweled net of stars.

Even at their fastest clip it took three hours to get the family fed their picnic (even a cold buffet took _some _work) and put the house back to rights. And _things_ were still happening. The servants hall would be filled with strange music. A chair slid ceaselessly back and forth in the darkened parlor. Finally, everything was done.

"Work is suspended for tomorrow," Carson announced at dinner, from which both O'Brien and Jimmy were absent. "You all have the day off. Sleeping arrangements may be kept the same as yesterday. The family will be dining with the Dowager Countess tomorrow, and they have offered use of the car so those who want to can go into Ripon."

But the mood, while still tense, was not quite the mood it had been the night before. It seemed as though Madame Nicodème- or Lady Sybil- or God knew who- had given everyone a wonderful gift- and some hope had been granted, and some fear diminished. Everyone talked animatedly, and there was a rowdy game of cards.

Eventually the party broke up- the boys to barn, the girls to their dormatory- and Thomas was left alone, save for Fred, who smoked a bit, and then sat at the piano.

"Goodnight, Thomas," Mrs. Hughes said, and bestowed upon him her look of special kindness. "Have a pleasant evening."

"You as well, Mrs. Hughes," Thomas said, forcing a smile in return. He sat, staring at the paper without reading it, his thoughts a muddy swirl, with onyx flashes of sadness. _Jimmy..._

Fred came to sit with him, not next to but across, and tapped his fingers restlessly on the table. "I've seen some odd things in Lady D'Abernon's parlor, but nothing on that scale," he said quietly, lifting his dark head.

"Yes. It was very..." Thomas let the implications of what is _was_ drag out. It had been a great number of things.

"What'd she say to you?" Fred asked, squinting at him. "You had quite the moment together."

"What'd she say to you?" Thomas returned, flicking ash off of his cigarette.

"Oh, she gave me a message," Fred said, smiling an odd smile- it was wide and genuine, but there was sadness in it, too. "It was ah, _'Chin up, my dear nug, and I'll see you sometimes later.' _"

"That's quite bawdy," Thomas said, laughing. "Who's it from?"

"Linus. He was my lover, and my love, but he died in the war. He got the Medal of Honor for running back into heavy fire to save his comrades in Charlevaux, can you imagine it?" Fred said, and looked away for a second.

"Ah. I'm sorry." Thomas felt uncomfortable, but then Fred glanced at him, that easy look he had back in place- not an act, Thomas thought, but the man's genuine dispositon.

"I needed to apologize to you, before I go up to my room, anyhow- I can't sleep in that damned barn again-" Fred said, nodding at him. "But, look- I wouldn't have been so forward if I had known about you and the blonde chappie. It took me a day of nasty looks from him to catch on. " Fred grinned, and drank the last of his tea.

"Jimmy?" Thomas said, startled. "Oh. But that's not-" he paused, and stubbed out his cigarette. "That's not going to happen. If it ever was. He's not like us, I don't think."

"Well, he's like _something_, over you," Fred said.

"No," Thomas said, after a moment. It felt so odd to talk about all of this matter of factly. "I don't think." He paused, trying to keep the unhappiness out of his voice. "But I wish it were so."

"If it's _really _not," Fred said, after a pause, "Then do you want to-"

"No, thanks," Thomas said, standing up. "I need to sleep."

Fred looked at him with his bright-dark gaze. "That bad, huh?"

Thomas nodded. "Goodnight, Fred," he said.

"Sweet dreams, dear Mr. Barrow," Fred said, "And may good things come your way."

Thomas walked out of the servant's hall- and nearly tripped over Jimmy, who was in his pyjamas and dressing gown, and had a look of absolute fury on his face. "Come with _me_!" He hissed, when Thomas started to speak, and turned on his his heel, marching up to the men's hall.

Thomas followed him, perplexed, and Jimmy stopped short outside of Thomas's bedroom door, and jerked a thumb at it angrily. "Let's _go_," he growled, trying to push Thomas into the room. Thomas walked in, unsure of what to do, and Jimmy closed the door behind them and bolted it. The action gave Thomas déjà vu- Jimmy had done the same thing the previous night, before they-

"_What_ in bloody hell did you tell _him_ that for!?" Jimmy said, angrily.

"Tell who what?" Thomas asked, taken aback by Jimmy's abrupt mood changes.

"That _lavender_ buggery _awful_ Alfred-" Jimmy said, rapidly. "What the hell did you say that to him for?! All that _'It's not going to happen'_ and _'There's nothing between us'_ shite!"

"Ah," Thomas said, holding his hands up in the air in a gesture of truce. "I thought-"

"Well _don't_!" Jimmy almost yelled, and then remembered himself and lowered his voice. Jimmy was shaking with emotion- Thomas could see his chest heaving up and down. "I don't want you to say anything _like_ that," Jimmy went on, in a quieter tone.

"Jimmy," Thomas said, taking a deep breath. "Whatever you think you're supposed to do, you don't have to. It's not necessary. I don't-" He paused, helplessly considering the man in front of him. "I don't need that from you," He finished, quietly, and looked at his own hands.

"Yes, you do," Jimmy said, his voice sounding like a string about to snap. He pulled out the chair and sat in it heavily, rubbing his brow with his hands. His dressing gown hung open, revealing his white pyjamas. "And I need it, too," He muttered, half to himself, then looked up, meeting Thomas's eye with the force of a blow. "I know what I'm _supposed _to believe," Jimmy went on, hollowly. "And I believe it sometimes. I _do_. That's why I treated you so badly-" Jimmy paused, shaking his head. His hair, loose of pomade, shook back and forth. "-_No_, I treated you so badly because I was afraid of what people would _think_, and there's no better reason I can offer. But I-" He sighed, and held his hands out to Thomas for an instant. Thomas watched him. His chest felt as though it were being roughly compressed.

"But I don't think," Jimmy said, dropping his hands, "that a feeling like this makes me- tainted. I think I've been badly colored by other things I've done- _petty _things- but this makes me feel _clean_. No, not clean but... _alive_, like when Lady Sybil pulled us all off of the ground." Jimmy slumped back in the chair as though the words had cost him an enormous effort. "So don't do that 'Oh, Jimmy is your little mind right' shite. I won't stand for it anymore. I'll _force_ it out of you."

Thomas tried not to gape at him. "Alright," He said, when Jimmy glared at him, obviously expecting an answer. "I'll try not to."

"I mean, don't let's go too fast, either," Jimmy said, quickly, looking as though he was having a sudden bout of nerves. "God. Do you have any alcohol?"

"Not anymore," Thomas said. He still stood warily, until Jimmy waved his hand at him. "Sit down, Mr. Barrow, you make me nervous. Standing all at attention like that, I mean. I feel like we're back in the war."

"I'm sorry," Thomas said, chagrined, and sat down. Jimmy was looking at his face intently."You brought my necktie," he said, after a pause, and dragged his chair closer without standing up.

"Ah- actually, I forgot I had it on me," Thomas lied. "I had my father's pocketwatch for an artifact." He opened his jacket for an instant, flashing the watch chain within.

"Right," Jimmy said, nodding. "You're a liar, though. It's the watch you always wear and the tie you brought specially."

"No," Thomas said, but Jimmy reached out and put his hand on Thomas's knee. His heart skipped in his chest, and he sat stock-still, watching Jimmy, who stared at the place where their two bodies met.

"What did the Madame say to you?" Jimmy asked, his head inclined downward. His fingers flexed and unflexed against Thomas's knee. Thomas could feel each point of contact as though it were burning him.

"She said that- that Lieutenant Courtenay was making all of this happen so that he could check up on me or something," Thomas said. He didn't know why he had told Jimmy the truth- he had never planned on repeating even a rough outline of what Madame Nicodème had said to _anyone_. But the words came tumbling out. Thomas felt at a disadvantage, with Jimmy touching him.

Jimmy nodded, looking vindicated. "I _told_ you," He said, his fingers digging into Thomas's skin.

"She said it, that's all," Thomas said. He kept his voice very precise. "It doesn't make it true."

"Yes, it bloody well _is_ true, or else how would she know to say it? And all those things- and Lady Sybil-" Jimmy broke off, blowing hair out of his eyes. "You're bloody stubborn," he said to Thomas. "You know it was all fantastical, and you sit here like we just had another dull workday."

Thomas let out a breath. "Well, some points were better than others," he said, trying to appear perfectly nonchalant.

"Yeah, right?" Jimmy said, leaning a little closer to him. Then Jimmy sighed. "I wish we had liquor, or beer or _something_," He said, pulling his hand back. "I feel so much easier with a little-"

Jimmy paused, flushing, and then looked into Thomas's eyes, his mouth drawn across his face in a straight line. "I want to sit with you. On the bed. But I don't want to go- to go as far as- as all that this morning-"

"Jimmy," Thomas began, but Jimmy cut him off. "Jimmy, you don't _have_ to," Jimmy said, imitating his voice, and then stood up, trepidatiously, and sat down on the bed next to Thomas. "Don't treat me like I'm some trembling maiden," He said to Thomas, pressing his body against Thomas's, so that they sat very close, side-by-side. Thomas wanted to laugh- he was fairly certain that it was he himself who was trembling.

There was silence between them for a while. Thomas wanted to get a cigarette, but it would have meant moving. After a moment, Jimmy rested his hand again on Thomas's knee. "It gives me a feeling of contentment, you know, to sit beside you," Jimmy said, as if he were just discovering it for himself. The he leaned against Thomas fully, his head at Thomas's neck, his breath hitting Thomas's ear and giving him a shivering feeling. Jimmy smelled like soap. "Put your arms around me," He said to Thomas. "Please."

Thomas slowly- very slowly- wrapped his arms around Jimmy, keeping his body where it sat. Jimmy heaved a great sigh against him, and then laughed- only a few times, before trailing off.

Jimmy's hand ran up and down Thomas's knee. "You want to touch me, as well?" Jimmy asked. This close, Thomas could feel the warmth coming off of Jimmy's body. The silk of his dressing down dragged against Thomas's formal jacket. Jimmy grasped his right hand, and pressed it down against his knee, making Thomas mirror the way he was being touched by Jimmy.

"Hmmmm. Yes," Jimmy said, quietly, as Thomas touched his leg. Jimmy was much more tense now than he had been when he'd pressed against Thomas drunkenly in the closet. Thomas couldn't believe that it had been only _this_ morning.

They stayed like that for a moment, rocking slightly, their hands moving- and then Jimmy surveyed him, putting his hands up to Thomas's arms. Thomas stopped touching him, concerned- but Jimmy only gave him an unreadable look and tugged at his jacket. "Take this off," He said, making Thomas's stomach twist. He shrugged out of his jacket, training telling him to hang it up immediately- but he remained sitting, until Jimmy tugged at his sleeves again. "Take all of this off," Jimmy said, unsteadily. "Put on your nightclothes, would you? Then we'll both be..."

Jimmy didn't finish the thought, but Thomas rose to his feet, going to hang his jacket. "Give me five minutes," He said to Jimmy. But Jimmy, with that intense expression on his face, shook his head.

"I'm staying here," He said to Thomas. "There have been noises in the hall all night. They kept waking me up, when I was trying to rest-" He broke off. "And I want to see you, anyways," He said, so quietly that Thomas thought he had misheard him. But Jimmy repeated himself, saying each word deliberately: "I want to see you like that."

Thomas felt a slow burn start in him, and fought off arousal. _Don't think on it too much_, He told himself, standing perfectly still while Jimmy's eyes moved over him. Jimmy was blushing. He touched his own neck, an unconscious gesture that made Thomas's pulse jump.

"Um," Thomas said, and started to unbutton his vest- an action that he had repeated thousands of times- with suddenly clumsy hands. Jimmy didn't say anything, but watching him unblinkingly, still with his hand pressed to his throat. He looked like he was quite lost.

Thomas took what felt like an eternity unbuttoning his shirt, and then hung that, as well, and stood before Jimmy in his undershirt, feeling utterly naked, more naked than he had ever been with any lover. Jimmy swallowed, audibly, and said, "Well? I haven't run screaming. Go on." His voice broke a little on the last, and Thomas shut his own eyes, to shut out the sight of him, and slid off his shirt, his trousers- he was almost nude for a minute- and then turned away from Jimmy, to the dresser, and pulled out his pyjamas.

"You look very nice," Jimmy said, from behind him. Thomas finished dressing, and looked over his shoulder uncertainly, hearing nothing so loudly as the beating of his own heart.

"Come here," Jimmy said, touching the bed with one hand, and Thomas walked back over to sit next to Jimmy- not as close as they had been. The air felt charged with electricity. Everything seemed painfully intimate.

_I want you, Jimmy,_ he thought, keeping himself still by an act of will. He hands wanted to go out to the other man, and caress him, to wipe the concerned look he wore off of his expressive face.

Jimmy inched closer to him, reaching out his hands to trace Thomas's arms. "I wonder who would win in a fight," he said, in a low voice. Thomas could see dark spots of color on his cheeks.

"I would," Thomas said, smiling at Jimmy's ruffled expression.

"Not hardly," Jimmy said. "You couldn't bear to hit me." He moved his hands over, to carefully touch Thomas's chest through the cotton shirt. Thomas fought with himself, not to move, but his breath hitched a bit before he forced it to be even. "This feels nice, too," Jimmy said, frowning. He shrugged off his dressing gown without looking at it, and threw it to the floor. "Do it to me."

Thomas laughed shakily. "Quite the seducer, you are," he said, though he could barely force himself to speak. Jimmy smiled at him, tilting his head. "After my own fashion," Jimmy said, catching hold of Thomas's hands and pressing them to his chest. "Oh," Jimmy said, when Thomas carefully repeated Jimmy's touch back to him. "Oh, Thomas, that feels good," he mumbled. _Good doesn't begin to describe it_, Thomas thought- he thought for a moment that he had said it aloud. Jimmy came closer to him, kneeling now. Thomas had one leg up on the bed- his right leg dangled off, and Jimmy knelt against his body, so that they were chest to chest, trapping Thomas's hands between them. "Mmm," Jimmy said, his eyes, which had fallen shut, opening slightly. He leaned in, against Thomas's hands, and kissed him slowly, on the corner of his mouth. Thomas freed his hands, and pushed the good one into Jimmy's hair, the bad one tracing lines against his neck.

"Yes," Jimmy said, against his lips, and rocked his hips back and forth, his face blotchy with color. He hardly seemed aware of what he was doing, for a second- and then Thomas saw his eyes fly open, and Jimmy sat back on his heels, breaking their contact.

Thomas had an erection. It pressed insistently against the seam of his pants, and he moved his legs to cover it, trying to get his head in order. It was so difficult to be collected, with Jimmy right _there_, and Thomas wanted him so badly-

He looked at Jimmy, who sat back, taking deep breaths in through his nose and exhaling hard through his mouth. His hair was a mess, un-pomaded and now sticking up in several directions.

"Can we lay down?" Jimmy asked, and then looked quite startled at himself. "I don't mean to do _that_," Jimmy rushed on, "I can't do that yet. But I want to lie down next to you."

"Yes, that's fine," Thomas said, his voice sounding as uneven as he felt. Jimmy gathered himself up, and then- very slowly- stretched out next to Thomas, so that they both had their heads on the pillow.

He looked into Thomas's eyes with a ghost of an expression, and arranged himself on his side. Thomas lay, one arm propping him up, and stretched his legs out. The bed was too narrow for two people, and Jimmy reached his arm out to steady himself, gripping Thomas's hip.

"Does this feel good to you?" Jimmy asked, in that strange manner of his. He looked as though he could not bear to hear the answer, and when Thomas said: "...Yes," quietly, Jimmy's eyelids fluttered as though it were too much. "Do it to me, then," Jimmy said, so Thomas reached out- just a little distance, really, so close did the confines of the bed force them- and wrapped his fingers around Jimmy's hipbone.

"Did you think about this," Jimmy asked, lowly, "-at night?"

Thomas averted his eyes, which was difficult with Jimmy only centimeters away. He nodded.

Jimmy nodded, too, and pressed the flat palm of his hand against Thomas's stomach. Thomas felt his whole body tense into the touch. "_Ah_," he said, a little gasp, and Jimmy's mouth opened, as though he, too, were going to make a sound, but instead he just traced his hand up and down Thomas's abdomen, his fingers whispering against the cotton shirt. Thomas felt nothing but Jimmy's hand. He concentrated very hard on keeping his hips still.

"Touch me this way," Jimmy said, and Thomas moved, pressing his hand into Jimmy's taut stomach.

"Mmmm_hell_," Jimmy groaned, and brought his mouth up to Thomas's. They kissed while still touching, and Thomas moved his lips against Jimmy's lips, his tongue against Jimmy's tongue, his breath coming quickly- and then Jimmy pulled back again, and rolled over onto his front, holding his face in his hands.

"Ah. Ah, hell," Jimmy said, into his palms. Thomas lay back as much as he could without falling off of the bed, and looked at the ceiling, trying to calm himself. "You don't have to push," Thomas said, when he could speak, and reached for a cigarette. His hands were almost shaking too much to strike the match.

"I know. But-" Jimmy stopped, turning over. "May I have one?"

"You're going to pick up bad habits," Thomas said, in a ghost of his normal voice. He could feel his heartbeat between his legs. Jimmy was very close to him, looking at him. "You want me, too," Jimmy said. "It's hard for you to stop, too, isn't it?"

"I'll always stop if you ask me to," Thomas said, looking away from him, at the cloud of smoke that trailed away through the room. Jimmy took a drag, and leaned over Thomas to flick his ashes. Their bodies dragged together, and Thomas felt Jimmy's chest hitch.

"Just let me get used to it," Jimmy said, and rubbed his free hand over Thomas's abdomen again. "I like this. I'm just _nervous._"

"Hn. Jimmy, don't do that for a minute," Thomas said, closing his eyes at the touch.

"I like to see you like this," Jimmy said, and pressed down harder. "You want me. Does it feel nice, when I touch you here?" Jimmy's cigarette was burning away in his hand. His irises seemed as though they had been swallowed up by his pupils.

"Yes," Thomas said, raggedly. "It feels very nice." His cigarette fell out of his fingers and landed neatly in the ashtray. Jimmy leaned over him, pressing into his shirt with his free hand. "_What_ does it feel like?" Jimmy asked, his tone curiously opaque.

"It's good," Thomas said, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to keep composure. "It's a little painful."

"Why?" Jimmy asked, as though he had no clue, which Thomas frankly doubted.

"Guess." Thomas put one hand over his eyes.

"Take this away-" Jimmy handed Thomas his cigarette to put out, and then, when Thomas turned back to him, he lay down, his arms coming up to pull at Thomas's shoulders. "Come here," he said, trying to pull Thomas down on top of him, and Thomas _wanted_ to- but he had an uneasy memory of the night he had gone to Jimmy's room. "Wait, now," Thomas said, and Jimmy pulled at him more insistently. "Come _here_," He said, firmly, looking as though he wouldn't appreciate it if Thomas asked him if he were _sure _again- and Thomas slowly lowered himself down over Jimmy, so that they were flush against eachother. His hands pressed into the mattress by Jimmy's head. Jimmy kept his eyes wide open, that dark color coming back into his cheeks, and threaded his fingers through Thomas's hair, tiliting his face up slightly to kiss him. Thomas could feel Jimmy's own erection pressing into his stomach. He felt so good _against_ Thomas that he almost moaned.

For a long moment they kissed, holding very still, and then Jimmy turned his head away to get his breath, and Thomas made to move off of him, but Jimmy grabbed him tightly around his middle. "Don't go," Jimmy said, into his ear.

Thomas stayed still, and then Jimmy resumed kissing him, and Thomas returned his efforts as best as he could, though his mind had been blanked out by a heavy fog of arousal._ There was nothing better than this, there had never been anything better than this-_

Jimmy began to move his body underneath Thomas's- pushing up against his torso, grinding his hips into him- and Thomas felt his stomach clench at the contact. The friction was unbearable. Thomas arched into it, trying not to moan, trying not to move, and Jimmy bucked his hips up again and again, saying nothing, only going "Ah-ah_-ah-" _with each hitching breath. Thomas kissed him, and Jimmy said something garbled into the kiss, and then said, "_Move, _Thomas, move with me, please-" and Thomas could take it no more, and he ground his hips down into Jimmy's and groaned with the pleasure of it.

"God-" Thomas said, into Jimmy's neck, and they rocked together as one, their erections frustratingly difficult to keep aligned, each one of them bucking up or down into the other. "Thomas," Jimmy said, in a voice that was half a sob, "_Thomas_, oh-" and then he broke off, and said, hoarsely, "Stop. I need to stop," and Thomas rolled off of him as quickly as he could manage.

They lay side by side for a minute, both of them trying to catch their breath, and then Thomas, hoping for a distraction from his body, lit a new cigarette.

Jimmy's hair was damp with sweat. Thomas had no idea how long they had been occupied for. It felt like it had been a second or an eternity of bliss.

"Give me a drag off that," Jimmy said, in a thick voice. He had not moved from where he lay, his shirt half pulled up by the motion of their bodies. The lines of his abdomen were exposed. Thomas tried not to stare at him overmuch, but he failed, like always.

"You do something to me, Mr. Barrow, and I can't deny it," Jimmy said, exhaling, in what he perhaps hoped was normal tone of voice, and half-laughed his nervous laugh. "That felt more like the real thing than anything I've ever done."

"To me, as well," Thomas said, sitting up. His nerves were hyper-alert, all his senses straining out towards Jimmy. His body ached with frustrated arousal. _When he leaves,_ Thomas thought, _I'll wait until he leaves and then I'll take care of it._

"I don't know," Jimmy said, his hand finding Thomas's bad hand and squeezing it gently. "You must have had lovers."

"You must've yourself," Thomas said, gesturing with his cigarette.

"_Girls_, I told you," Jimmy said, shaking his head. "I don't know if it's all blokes, or if it's just you that turns me violet, but It's never been like this for me. This," he paused, and Thomas noticed that Jimmy's hands were shaking- "This is the stuff of dreams, right here."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Thomas said, moving gingerly to a more comfortable sitting position. His body cried out to him in protest.

Jimmy was contemplating the far wall with some intensity. His eyes suddenly turned to Thomas's face. "Do you know what it feels like, to me? Being _with_ you?" Jimmy asked, sitting up carefully, his eyes never leaving Thomas's.

"No," Thomas said, breathing out smoke. "What?"

"It feels like when the spirits- when we lifted up off of the ground," Jimmy said, his eyes bright. "It feels like I'm floating."

Jimmy reached out, and brushed his fingers against Thomas's face. "I never could stop thinking of you, not since I came here," he whispered. "You bothered me."

"Yes, I know I bothered you," Thomas said, tersely.

"_No_, not like that," Jimmy replied. "I thought about you. That's all I meant."

Jimmy pushed a strand of hair out of Thomas's eyes. "Can I sleep here tonight?" He asked. "It's the best night we'll ever have to get away with it."

"It's not a good idea," Thomas said. "They'll be back in the morning."

"Then I'll set the alarm for _early_," Jimmy said, and grabbed Thomas's arm. "If I can manage to get to sleep next to you, that is. I have a bit of a problem."

Thomas wanted to kiss Jimmy's mouth, but that road led to trouble. "Let's play a few hands to get our minds off it," He said, and stood up, going to fetch his deck of cards.

Jimmy shuffled the deck, showing off his card tricks. He dropped them in mid-shuffle. It was the first time Thomas had ever seen him flub one of his shuffles, and they gathered up the cards together, their hands bumping. "You should take off your glove," Jimmy said, and grabbed Thomas's hand. "Don't keep it on because I'm here." He undid the buttons without waiting for the affirmative from Thomas, and then pulled Thomas's ruined hand up to his mouth, kissing it.

"Don't start," Thomas said, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Alright," Jimmy said, but kissed further up his wrist.

"Don't, or I'll make you sleep in your own room," Thomas menaced, but Jimmy just laughed at him, and began to shuffle the cards again. Thomas wondered if he, even once in his life, had ever been happier.

When they had both relaxed enough to sleep (although Thomas was not sure that he would be able to sleep at all next to Jimmy, no matter how relaxed he became)- Thomas got up to turn out the lights, and Jimmy, rising from the bed, pulled back the coverlet. They looked at each other in the dim room, with things suddenly awkward between them, and then Jimmy cracked a smile, a bit nervously, and climbed into the bed.

"Come on, then," Jimmy said, when Thomas didn't move for a moment- the déjà vu of seeing Jimmy lying prone in a bed was not as pleasant an experience as he would have liked. "Come on," Jimmy said, flapping the sheets at him, and Thomas walked over, and climbed into the bed.

They lay next to each other, cramped, their shoulders touching, and then Jimmy turned over, to face Thomas. "Goodnight," He said, kissing Thomas's cheek. Thomas, in return, carefully put an arm around Jimmy. "Tell me again," Jimmy said, tiredly.

"Tell you what?" Thomas asked, feeling Jimmy's ribs move up and down. "That you love me," Jimmy said, his eyes falling shut, and then opening again.

"Oh. I love you, Jimmy," Thomas said, and let himself _feel_ it, the way he was always trying not to. Emotion overwhelmed him for a moment, and he swallowed, willing his voice not to crack. "I suppose I loved you from the first moment I saw you."

Jimmy smiled, his eyes crinkling up into a tired grin. "A shallow sort of love," He accused, reaching over to pinch Thomas on the arm. "Mmm, well. That's all you're good for," Thomas said, and Jimmy laughed, and pinched him again, almost hard enough to bruise.

Thomas pulled Jimmy slightly closer to him, and Jimmy kissed him sleepily on his mouth, and then turned over, so that they lay fitted together, side by side. _I won't be able to sleep_, Thomas thought_, with him pressed against me- _but, after a while, with Jimmy's even breathing to guide him, he drifted- no, he floated- away, into dreams.

* * *

The Lieutenant, terrible figure that he was, beckoned Jimmy down a long hall. At the end shone a bright light, and Jimmy stalled as much as he could, examining tables and chairs for dust, so that he would not have to go into the frightening light.

"Come on, then," Courtenay said, in his cold voice. His eyes were as white as doves. "I'm going, I'm going," Jimmy said, but at the door he made to run back, and the Lieutenant grabbed him and roughly shoved him through. Jimmy stumbled, and fell to earth, blinded by the brightness.

"Jimmy?" Thomas asked, standing above him, and a hand came slowly down. Jimmy climbed up with him, and they looked at each other. "I won't leave you alone to fight them," He promised, looking into Thomas's odd pale eyes. "Not ever."

"I can't bear it," Thomas said, "Now that you've been mine."

They were in the dining room, abruptly, and chairs and books whirled around them in a slow dance. Jimmy saw _The Age of Innocence_ float by, and grabbed for it, missing. "This wind," he said to Thomas, "It's so strong-"

Thomas came to him, his eyes searching Jimmy's face. "Tell me again," Thomas said, his mouth turning up in a smile, and Jimmy kissed the corner of his smile. The bouquets had all been undone, and flowers spun through the air, commingling with china plates. "I love you," Jimmy said, and they were borne up by the wind, carried away on it, but Jimmy did not know where, because Thomas was the only thing that he could see.

* * *

Jimmy woke to the clanging of the alarm, and shot out of bed without remembering where he was, elbowing Thomas in the process. "Mmm_ph_," Thomas said, and turned over, his eyes slitting open. "What time is it?" He asked, making no move to get up.

"Um," Jimmy said. He had forgotten, for a second, the events of the previous night- now he remembered them all at once and felt a shiver of embarrassment work its way through him. _Oh, God,_ he thought, _the things I said to him- the things I _did_-_

"What. Time. Is. It." Thomas said, into the pillow.

"Oh!" Jimmy said, and glanced down, nervously. "Um, four- half past four."

"That's a bit of overkill, on a day off," Thomas muttered. "They won't be back, they'll have been drinking again all night. Give yourself another two hours and come back to bed." Tired Thomas gave far less of a whit for the rules, apparently, than Fully Awake Thomas did.

"Are you certain?" Jimmy asked, and Thomas moved backwards without opening his eyes, so that Jimmy could lay down next to him. Jimmy reset the clock, put it down on the nightstand, and stared at the shape of Thomas under the covers. After a moment, climbed back in bed, and wrapped his arms around the other man.

"Hmm," Thomas buzzed, against his ear. "S'nice to sleep with you." His voice sounded totally different when he was half asleep, Jimmy thought. Much more working-class, and less- less guarded, somehow.

"Yeah," Jimmy agreed, trying to remember another time in his adult life when he had spent his whole night in bed with someone. "I like it, too."

"We should sleep," Thomas said, although he appeared to be sleeping already, "and then go out. For your birthday."

"Do you think people will notice?" Jimmy whispered, his face pressed against Thomas's hair.

"I don't care," Thomas said, and rolled over.

"In the morning you will," Jimmy said, smiling, and pressed his chest to Thomas's back. He fell back asleep until the second alarm.

At six thirty they both sprang awake, Jimmy rolling out of the bed as quietly as he could and grabbing his dressing gown off the floor. "_Why_ are you still in here?" Thomas hissed at him, stumbling out of bed and walking dragging himself over to the door. He unbolted it, holding a finger to his lips for silence. Jimmy swallowed his retort, and Thomas looked out into the hall, and then motioned frantically for him to go through. "Bye," Jimmy whispered, slipping out by him and down the hall. Thomas's expression softened for an instant, Jimmy saw, as he brushed past him on the way out.

Jimmy could not go back to sleep. A vase of flowers floated through the hallways, the flowers loose in a stream of water, and Jimmy opened his door at the racket, only to be swept off by an image from one of his dreams. A petal blew past his hair, and he shut the door firmly.

_This is mad, all of this is mad_, Jimmy thought, and put on his town clothes. He couldn't deny the happiness he felt, though. It had settled in to his bones, it seemed, and he washed up, brushed his hair out in the mirror, got his wallet and coat, and ran through the hall, lest any more vases were lurking in the darkness. He rapped his knuckles against Thomas's door, only to have it swung suddenly open, to reveal Thomas still in his pyjamas. "What?" he asked, looking Jimmy over. Jimmy felt a smug satisfaction at the glance, only tinged with the slightest unease. _He always looks me over_, he amended in his thoughts, and snapped his fingers rudely at Thomas. "Come on, I want to go out!"

"The car's not going to leave at seven in the morning," Thomas said.

"Sod going with all them. Let's walk into the village and spend all day," Jimmy said. "I'm going to the hall. Hurry up."

Thomas closed the door in his face. Jimmy, still smiling, took the stairs two at a time.

The kitchen was dark. Jimmy wondered vaguely what the family would do about breakfast, before they fled haunted Downton for an evening with the Dowager. _Perhaps Carson and Mrs. Patmore work even on days off,_ he mused. He could hear Carson snoring in his office, in a monotonous drone. Finally he heard Thomas approach, and stood up, so that they met at the doorway. "Let's go, let's go," Jimmy said. Thomas took a moment to fix his coat. "Pushy, aren't you?" Thomas asked, as they left. On the grounds Thomas lit a cigarette, and Jimmy looked at him in the morning light, shivering against the chill. This morning Thomas had blue hollows under his eyes, but they added to his face, rather than taking away. Jimmy thought about resting his hand on Thomas's arm and then thought better of it. "I want to eat breakfast at the village pub," Jimmy said, "and then take the bus over to Ripon. We'll avoid the others."

"I see you have this all planned out," Thomas said.

"Well," Jimmy said, "It's my birthday celebration, isn't it?"

"Yes, of course," Thomas said, dryly, and smirked at Jimmy.

"What do you think Madame Nicodème will, do, stay alone in Downton all day?" Jimmy asked, curiously. He pictured her alone- or better still with her weird chauffeur- prowling around the estate, speaking in a myriad of voices.

"I don't give a hang what Madame Nicodème does," Thomas said, flicking ash off of his cigarette. Jimmy slid his eyes over. "What's got you so irritable?" he asked, smiling at Thomas. For some reason, Thomas flushed crimson, and pulled on his tie.

"Well?" Jimmy prodded. The road into the village was spectacularly beautiful this morning, Jimmy noticed. He felt as though he had never before noticed it quite so well.

"Nothing," Thomas said, and Jimmy looked over at him again.

"I'm sorry that I, um, sort've... lost my nerve, last night," Jimmy said. Thomas glanced around, but there wasn't a soul for miles.

"Don't be sorry," Thomas said, and smiled at him- a real smile, changing his face. "I'm quite- ah- _happy_ with everything." Thomas clapped his mouth shut, as if he had said too much, but Jimmy grinned at him, feeling a pleasant sensation in his chest. "You won't throw me over, then, for Awful Alfred?" he asked, half-joking. "Or anyone else?"

"No, I don't think so," Thomas said, lightly, but his face looked quite serious, and his eyes widened for a second. "If you were mine to throw over I'd never exercise the liberty."

"You're very smooth," Jimmy said, laughing. "That's it, then. I'm yours and you're mine to throw over," he added, in a determined voice.

"Very romantic," Thomas said, but his voice shook a little. Jimmy looked up at him, worried, but Thomas's face was utterly impassive.

"I think we can manage, Thomas," Jimmy said. Thomas nodded, not looking at him. "And if we can't manage here-"

Thomas over at him sharply, and Jimmy caught a flash of feeling on his face. _Anxiety_. _He cares very much_, Jimmy thought, and brushed his gloved fingers against Thomas's sleeve."If it can't manage here," Jimmy said, "We could always quit."

Thomas snorted, walking on.

"I'm serious!" Jimmy said, quickening his pace to keep up with him. "Thomas," he said, seriously. "I like you a far sight better than I like this job, and I _like_ this job. But I'd-" Jimmy paused, not sure if he should go on, and then continued in a rush. "Oh, God, I can't believe it- but -I'd _hate_ to lose you. It's funny, how it happened, and now I can't think of it any other way."

Thomas stopped in the middle of the road, regarding Jimmy from under the brim of his hat. "You shouldn't say those things if you don't mean them." Thomas said, quietly.

"I mean it," Jimmy answered, meeting his gaze squarely. _God help me, I do_, he thought, and leaned up, on his toes, to kiss Thomas on the cheek. Thomas let him for a fraction of a second, his eyes closing- and then stepped back and looked around. There was still no other soul on the country road.

They walked on, the day growing brighter around them. "Did you sleep well last night?" Jimmy asked, and then blushed. It was so strangely intimate to speak with Thomas this way.

"You're a terrible hog of the bed," Thomas said, his lips pulling up. Jimmy studied his profile as they walked. "I kept waking with myself nearly on the floor."

"Well, I slept _very_ well," Jimmy said. "Although I found myself besieged by dreams, again."

Thomas shot him a look. They were getting close to the village, and Jimmy's stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten properly the day before.

"Lieutenant Courtenay?" Thomas asked. Jimmy nodded. "He's none too subtle. May I ask you- what was he like? In _real_ life?"

"I don't know, " Thomas said. "I didn't know him for very long. Just a few weeks, really, before he..."

"He really did it because he was blind?' Jimmy asked, and Thomas nodded, his mouth twisting. "And- because he had to leave us."

"Leave you, you mean," Jimmy said. Thomas nodded again. "I begged Doctor Clarkson to keep him there. Lady Sybil pleaded with him. Somehow we knew-"

"That he wouldn't make it on his own?" Jimmy asked, when Thomas didn't elaborate.

"Yes," Thomas said, quietly.

"Did you ever kiss him?" Jimmy asked. Thomas shook his head emphatically _no_. "It wasn't like that. We touched a few times, that was all."

Jimmy knew it was ungenerous to feel jealous of a dead man, but jealousy burned within him anyways. "Was he your great love?" He asked. Thomas didn't answer him, and Jimmy bumped his arm. "Do you wish he was here, instead of me?" He asked. He didn't care if he was being ridiculous. _I don't want you to prefer anyone else to me, Thomas_, He thought. _Even if they're dead._

"No," Thomas said, after a moment.

"Am _I_ your great love?" Jimmy asked.

"You want to hear it all the time, don't you?" Thomas muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Yes," Jimmy said. All the things he didn't know about Thomas- all the things that had always been taboo to speak of- he could ask about, now. He felt curiously free, as though not even the disapproval of society would affect this lightness within him. "What was the longest you've ever kept an affair going on for?" Jimmy asked.

"The Duke," Thomas said, immediately.

"Alfred told me O'Brien had said you'd carried on with a duke," Jimmy answered. He felt quite astonished. "I didn't believe him."

"How wonderful of her," Thomas said, gritting his teeth. "I don't savor the idea of her sharing my personal history with Alfred."

"Was he very handsome?"

"He was decent enough to look at. Not handsome like- like you. But it ended rather badly." Thomas looked uncomfortable talking about this, but Jimmy found he didn't care. _If I'm going to work through my discomfort to do...all of _that_ with you, _Jimmy thought_, the least you can do is tell me a bit of your torrid history._

"How did it end?" Jimmy asked. The village sprang into view, charming as always.

"Ah." Thomas took a deep breath, looking out over the stone buildings. "He had promised to take me away with him, as his valet, so that we could be together always. Instead he left me alone, and got ahold of all the letters he had sent me- he burned them, so that I could never blackmail him. Which I might've. But it was all I had of him. Now it's all just-" He tapped his head. "Here, like everything else."

"That's bloody _awful_!" Jimmy said, indignantly. "That worthless bugger! I'd like to beat in his inbred face!"

Thomas looked at him quizzically, and then laughed. "That's very kind of you, Jimmy," He said, still laughing. "And what about you, then? What was your great love affair?"

"I don't know," Jimmy said, looking at his feet. "I've never had one. I've gone to bed with eleven girls- and now _you_-" he added, blushing-

"Keep your voice low, won't you?" Thomas asked. His eyes had widened at the number 'eleven'. Jimmy wondered if Thomas had been with a good deal more people than that. They had entered the village proper now.

"But they were all one night sort of things," Jimmy said, uncomfortably. "I guess Lady Anstruther was the closest I've ever come to having a relationship- oh, but we _never_!" he broke of, at Thomas's expression. "Not like that. I never did more than rub her feet."

"You _rubbed_ her _feet_?" Thomas raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't think that's on your list of duties."

"Not _here_, thank god," Jimmy said. "I'd hate to touch Lord Grantham's feet."

They stopped outside the pub, and Jimmy gestured for them to go in. "Breakfast?" he asked Thomas.

"It's _your_ birthday," Thomas said, and followed him in.

They sat together at a little table, and Jimmy had a good moment to _really_ study Thomas's face. He had studied it fairly hard when they were kissing the night before, he recalled, and shivered. Thomas had looked undone- so different from now, when he regarded Jimmy with his properly neutral expression. The table was small enough that their knees touched. Jimmy purposely bumped his legs against Thomas's, to see if he could wipe the blank expression off of the other man's face. It worked, for a fraction of second, and then Thomas went all proper again. The only thing that belied his unruffled appearance was his right hand, which he tapped against the table.

"I'll have bacon and eggs. And potatoes. And coffee," Jimmy said, when the girl came to take their order. "Thank you."

Thomas smiled at the woman charmingly, and ordered toast and coffee.

"That's all you're having?" Jimmy asked, as she walked away.

Thomas nodded. "I couldn't, ah-" He stopped, and Jimmy looked into his eyes curiously. "Is your stomach in knots?" Jimmy asked, hazarding a guess.

Thomas began to shake his head _no-_ but then nodded, staring at the table.

"Good, I'm glad," Jimmy said, and gave him a cheeky grin. "I'm sure mine would be, too, if I hadn't been so drunk and then fasted accidentally," He allowed. Thomas didn't look up for a moment.

"I wonder what I want to do today?" Jimmy mused aloud. "I hope the haunts don't go away, so you and I can spend another night together without having to worry about everyone."

"_Shhh_," Thomas said, looking over his shoulder, but the pub was filled and noisy with the breakfast crowd, and no one could have heard what Jimmy said, even if they had been listening.

"Ha," Jimmy said. "We could go away, you know," he said, considering Thomas's face. "There are a hundred places where we could be together- _live_ together, even- and nobody would ever know."

"Jimmy," Thomas said. He looked pained.

"I _mean_ it," Jimmy said, slamming his palm against the table in annoyance. "I want a _happy_ life. I always have. And you seem to be the thing for it. The thing that makes me happy."

Thomas ducked his head. "It's rather sudden for you, that's all," He mumbled. "Three days ago you couldn't even-"

"Yes, I _could_ even," Jimmy said, and quieted for a second as their food appeared. He liberally peppered his eggs, and then started to eat with gusto. "I just had to adjust my _thinking_. I didn't know that the reason I've always been alone- well, _preferred_ being alone- is because-"

The pepper grinder slid across the table, and then lifted into the air, only a few centimeters. Thomas reached out quickly and put his hand on it, holding it down. They stared at each other.

"Eat quickly," Thomas advised him. "I don't want to get burned at the stake by a frightened mob."

Jimmy snorted, and ate as fast as he could.

Thomas insisted on paying for the meal. "You shouldn't have to pay your way, if we're celebrating," he said. "Besides, I earn more than you.'

Jimmy rolled his eyes. As they put down coins for the tip, he palmed one- a trick he'd always known- and reached across the table, tweaking Thomas's ear.

"Penny for your thoughts," Jimmy said, smiling and showing Thomas the coin.

Thomas, for some reason, paled, and swallowed audibly. "What?' Jimmy asked, standing up. "I don't believe you've never seen _that _one before."

"I've seen it before," Thomas said, quietly, as they left.

Jimmy's happiness was such that he felt almost a delirious sort of goodwill, encompassing all men and beasts. He smiled at the ladies they passed, widely, causing more than a few of them to blush. He rarely in life could remember moments of pure happiness, and now he had been purely happy for an entire morning.

They caught the bus into Ripon- Jimmy cleverly shouldering in front of Thomas so that he could pay both their fares- and then Jimmy sat pressed as close to Thomas as he possibly could without being noticed- which, in the cramped confines, was _very _close. "This reminds me of when we sat on your bed last night," Jimmy whispered into Thomas's ear, to see if he could make Thomas blush. He could.

They walked through Ripon, stopping to look in the windows of the shops. Jimmy, despite a lifetime of conditioning, found that it was hard to remember _not_ to take Thomas's arm. It seemed so natural, Jimmy thought. Perhaps society was wrong- he'd always thought it was wrong about a myriad of things- but perhaps it was wrong about _this_, too.

"No one would think it was really _very _odd if we walked arm-in-arm," Jimmy said, as Thomas admired a green scarf in the window of a shop.

"If anyone from Downton saw us, they'd find it odd indeed," Thomas replied, sliding his eyes over to Jimmy. "Can you contain yourself at all?"

Jimmy gave him his most dazzling smile. "No," He said, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet. "I don't have to. It's a lovely day, isn't it?"

"Very lovely," Thomas agreed, but he was looking at Jimmy. _I love you,_ Jimmy thought, remembering how he'd said it, in his dream._ No,_ he thought, as Thomas drifted over to the windows of another shop. _Probably shouldn't say that, yet_.

But then maybe, Jimmy thought, catching up to Thomas, if he just told Thomas how he felt then Courtenay would go away and leave them to get on with their lives. _With our life together_, Jimmy thought, firmly, although the idea of it- and everything it entailed- made his pulse race, tracing a line through his feelings that was both happy and afraid. _Oh, sod it, _He thought, and opened his mouth to tell Thomas.

"Thomas, I-" Jimmy began, but Thomas wasn't listening. He had apparently caught sight of a clock shop, and gestured to Jimmy to follow him. "Let's go in here," He said, and Jimmy followed him up the steps.

Inside, the only noise was the ticking- it underscored the room, as comforting as a metronome. Motes of dust danced in the light. Thomas took off his hat, as though in reverence for the place.

"Good morning," Said the elderly woman behind the counter, glancing up from her paper- and then she brightened, straightening. "Oh, good morning, Thomas! Are you going to sell me that pocketwatch today?"

"Never, Mrs. Chilcott," Thomas said, favoring her with a smile. "What's new?"

"That grandfather clock in the last aisle is- I got it last week from an estate sale," The woman said, pointing with one gnarled finger towards the back of the shop. "You shouldn't look at it, though!" She called out, as Thomas walked in that direction. "You're going to want to own it!"

"Come here often?" Jimmy asked, nudging Thomas in the side. The walked down the aisle, Jimmy seeing nothing of note, but them Thomas stopped short in front of a grandfather clock and looked at it as though it were the holy grail.

"What is it?" Jimmy asked, as Thomas lifted his hands to touch the clock. It was painted with the phases of the moon around its face.

"It's a old clock, more than a hundred years," Thomas said. "In mahogany. When I have my own house or apartment or whatever, someday- I'll have one like this."

"Good," Jimmy said, studying Thomas's profile. "When _we_ have our own whatever, you can have your clock in the dining room and then put your hands all over me while I wind it."

Thomas turned an alarming shade of fuschia, his mouth going very tight, and stepped back. Jimmy started to laugh- and then all of the clocks went off at once, in the whole shop, making a ceaseless, deafening noise. Jimmy fairly ran for the front door.

"Oh, this racket!" Mrs. Chilcott was yelling, as they exited. She waved goodbye to Thomas. Jimmy glanced at the time on a clock face as they left: it was eleven eighteen._ But clocks chime on the hour_, Jimmy thought, and felt himself get a chill. On the quarter-hour, even. Not at eleven-eighteen, and not all at once, unless Mrs. Chilcott were a maniac who wound all thousand or so of them each morning.

"Do you get the feeling...?" He asked Thomas, on the street. "Yes," Thomas said, shaking his head vigorously.

Jimmy shivered, not from the wind but from the thought of spirits. "Let's take in a picture," He said, and led Thomas up the avenue.

The got the local newspaper. "There's more than one showing. We can choose from-" Jimmy paused, scanning the paper.

"_The Haunted Castle_," Jimmy read, and looked up at Thomas, who shook his head emphatically _no_.

"Uh- _Sybil_," Jimmy said, "and _The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse_."

Their eyes met over the edge of the paper.

"Better make it the _Horsemen_," Thomas said, tersely. Jimmy nodded.

The theatre wasn't even half-full- it was early, still, and a weekday. They sat in the balcony, alone. Jimmy had picked the seats- it was worth it to him to get the less comfortable chairs if it meant they could be alone together, and talk during the picture.

"There's a vendor," Jimmy said, looking down at the theatre below. "You want peanuts or popcorn?"

"Popcorn," Thomas said, and lit a cigarette.

Jimmy brought back popcorn and peanuts, and then credits began. The score swelled, and Jimmy tapped his fingers along with it, pressing down on invisible keys. "Nice music," He whispered to Thomas, who nodded.

"That's Rudolph Valentino, the world's most handsome man, so they say," Jimmy said, pointing at the screen. Thomas made a face. "I don't see it," He said, looking the actor over.

"I agree. You're much more handsome than he is," Jimmy whispered. Talking about how handsome men were- or _Thomas _was- seemed illicit and odd, and he felt an uncomfortable twist in his stomach.

Thomas picked up on his discomfiture, and gave him a wicked smile. "Aren't you the expert, all of a sudden?"

"Oh, sod you," Jimmy said, shoving Thomas. Pieces of popcorn rained onto the floor.

Thomas shoved him back, and Jimmy's peanuts dumped everywhere.

"You bloody arse!" Jimmy said, snickering. He picked up a handful of peanuts off the floor and ate them all at once, much to Thomas's obvious disgust.

"They're _ruined_ now," Jimmy said, through a mouthful.

"Shh," Thomas said, looking straight ahead, very seriously.

Jimmy was having trouble following the thread of the story- too many things had happened, in _real_ life, for it to keep his attention today. Jimmy's eyes moved here and there, and over to Thomas, and then away. He watched the screen again. "Look at how close they're dancing," He whispered, leaning over to Thomas.

Thomas nodded, transfixed by the screen. "That's a tango," He said. "I can do that."

"You can not."

"I can too. I learned it during the war. A lady taught me at a club in Paris when I had leave."

"You should teach it to me, I'd be good at it," Jimmy said, in his ear. Thomas nodded, his eyes never leaving the dancers. Jimmy looked- they were truly alone on the balcony, even the usher had snuck off- and reached over, resting his hand on Thomas's knee.

Thomas glanced down at Jimmy's hand, his lips quirking into his typical unconscious half smile, and then, very gently, he placed his hand on Jimmy's knee, in return. The touch brought back with it memories of the night before- Thomas sitting next to him, his body shaking with exertion- with arousal- Thomas on _top_ of him, pressed against his body, his face hazy with pleasure-

"Hmm," Jimmy said, and helped himself to Thomas's cigarette with his free hand. They sat that way for a while, not moving.

_I want you_, Jimmy thought, stealing a look at the side of Thomas's face. His expression was impassive, but his eyes looked as though they could swallow up the whole screen and everyone in it.

Jimmy moved his hand up Thomas's leg, making Thomas glance over at him. Jimmy met his glance, trying to look blasé. "Eyes on the film, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy said, and squeezed his thigh.

Thomas's mouth dropped open, but then he closed it quickly, and looked straight at the front of the theatre, his eyes on the figures on screen.

Jimmy sat, his heart pounding in his ears, wondering what to do next. It was one thing to _want_ all of this, but to act upon it? _You want to do it, so just do it, _he told himself, firmly. _And stop being such a ninny. _Then he, too, looked straight ahead, keeping his hand where it was.

On the screen came a title card: "Pride and earthly treasures crumble before the hosts of Prophecy." _Ominous, _Jimmy thought, massaging his fingers into the muscle of Thomas's leg.

He took a breath, and moved his hand further up. He was sure he was blushing.

Thomas took a sharp breath when Jimmy touched the seam of his trousers, and Jimmy found that Thomas was half-hard already. The discovery made pride swell in his chest. It also made his stomach bottom out.

Jimmy moved his hands up and down, carefully, his fingers tracing patterns over Thomas's erection for long minutes. _What are you doing?_ He asked himself, hearing nothing over the hammering of his own heart.

"_Ah_," Thomas muttered, next to him, when Jimmy touched him in a certain way, and Jimmy looked over at his profile. Thomas was still facing the screen, but his head was slightly bowed. His lips were pressed tightly together. His hair, which he hadn't taken time to fix, fell over his face. Jimmy saw that his eyes were closed. Thomas's gloved hand gripped onto the armrest, and the fingers of his right hand dug almost painfully into Jimmy's knee. Jimmy felt desire uncurl in his own body, and moved his hand more roughly. On the screen, Rudy Valentino kissed his parents goodbye before going off to war.

"Hnn," Thomas said, barely making a sound at all, and Jimmy, glancing around to make sure they were still alone, leaned over and pressed his lips to Thomas's temple. He sat back up, never changing the motion of his fingers. He imagined that Thomas was using all his willpower in holding himself back from lifting up in his seat, his body desperate to meet Jimmy's hand. Jimmy's face burned. _Oh yes, _he thought, dizzily, _ I want you, I do, I want you to-_

"Jimmy," Thomas said, hoarsely, "You need to stop-"

Jimmy didn't want to stop, but Thomas wrested his hand away, and then slumped over in his chair for a moment, inhaling deeply. He said something under his breath that Jimmy didn't catch.

Jimmy felt shaky himself. He found that he was quite aroused, as though watching Thomas struggle to regain his composure was the most erotic thing he had ever seen. _Or it could be from all the touching, _he thought. He made to sling an arm over Thomas's shoulder, but Thomas shrugged him off.

"Just a moment, please," Thomas whispered. He put his face into his hands and stayed still for a second, crossing his legs and then uncrossing them immediately. He looked uncomfortable, but Jimmy couldn't bring himself to feel very guilty. "Thomas, I-" Jimmy started to speak, leaning forward to whisper in his ear, but Thomas waved him off with one hand, still not looking at him. "Just watch the film," he said to Jimmy in a voice that sounded better suited to the bedroom. Jimmy's insides clenched at the sound of his voice, but he turned back to the screen. The movie was ending soon, anyways. It looked like everybody turned out either dead or pretty badly off.

Jimmy read the last title card off of the screen: " '_Peace has come- but the Four Horsemen will still ravage humanity- stirring unrest in the world- until all hatred is dead and only love reigns in the heart of mankind_.' Well, I'll drink to that." He looked over at Thomas, who sat very still, his eyes not on the screen, but fixed somewhere on the floor in front of him.

The lights came up. "Are you quite recovered?" Jimmy asked, touching his arm. Thomas turned to him. Jimmy saw that he still had a bright flame of color burning in a band across his face, and that his lips looked as though they had been kissed thoroughly.

"Not quite," Thomas said, evenly, "but I'll manage." He got up, rather slowly, and Jimmy stood up with him. They walked out of the theatre, and into the grey afternoon sunlight.

Everything seemed more _real_ outside of the dark and magical word of the theatre, and Jimmy examined Thomas worriedly. He really _did_ have a pallor that was even more exaggerated than usual, and his expression was vaguely nauseous. "Do you feel alright?" Jimmy asked him, anxiously, but Thomas nodded at him. "Just fine. What did you want to do next?"

Jimmy had wanted to spend all night there, with Thomas- more browsing and flirting, capped off by an evening of drinking and gambling- but the look on Thomas's face worried him. _Perhaps you've gone too far_, Jimmy thought, and touched his hand to the other man's shoulder."I thought we could take the bus back and spend the early evening walking around the estate," Jimmy said.

"Sounds lovely," Thomas said, and turned in the direction of the station. Jimmy kept pace with him, feeling wonderful- and frightened, as though something he did not comprehend was rushing towards him.

They took the long way back to Downton from the station, and by the time they saw the lights of the house, dusk was gathering behind the treeline, and the chill in the air was quite pronounced.

"Look at that," Jimmy breathed, as they walked up. Downton's lights flared into life and then extinguished, all at once in every room- flickering in on and off and on again. It reminded him of a message in Morse code. Thomas squinted at the spectacle. "Looks like the spirits are still afoot."

"I'll say," Jimmy replied, wonderingly. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the lights stopped flashing, and shone only from the rooms that were _supposed _to be lit.

"Madame Nicodème is going to leave without her fee," Thomas said, and they headed for the servants entrance.

"I don't know," Jimmy answered, "she said it could take a day or two for them to clear out."

Thomas chuckled at him, his lips curling into a derisive grin. "You really believe in her, don't you?"

Jimmy spared him an incredulous look. "You're an _idiot_ if you don't believe in her at this point."

"Well, I never contested my idiocy, did I?" Thomas asked darkly, and walked into the house.

"Good evening!" Mrs. Hughes greeted them. She sat at the table, with- with Mrs. Patmore, surprisingly enough- (Jimmy had never seen _her_ eat a meal anywhere but the kitchen) and Mr. Carson. "Come join us for a little meal," Mrs. Hughes said. Jimmy took off his coat and hung it, and Thomas did they same. They sat opposite from each other, as always. Jimmy marveled at how that could have remained the same when everything else was as different as could be.

"Well, Mr. Carson," Thomas asked, picking at his food, "Where is everybody?"

"They'll be out all hours, I expect," Carson said, sounding strangely indifferent to an idea that normally would have enraged him.

"And are we going back to work tomorrow?" Jimmy asked, curiously.

"James, I do not know," Carson said, heavily. "If this goes on-" At his words, the piano rapped out three notes, of its own accord. Carson looked over at it sharply, and then back at Jimmy.

"Mr. Carson," Jimmy asked him, trepidatiously, "-What are we going to do if it doesn't _stop_?"

Everyone else at the table was silent, leaving Jimmy's question hanging in the air.

"James," said, looking rather old, "I have _no _idea."

Mrs. Patmore told them all a funny story about what the ghosts had done to her souffle. Jimmy laughed in the appropriate parts, but mostly he watched Thomas, who cut his food into neat little bits and then stared at it, as though it would do something interesting on his plate.

_I hope he can't think of anything but me_, Jimmy thought, and shivered.

Mrs. Hughes asked Thomas if he would see to some rudimentary chores on the morrow, even though things were probably still going to be at loose ends, and Thomas agreed, if maybe a touch listlessly. If his manner seemed a bit off, Jimmy thought, no one would ever wonder at it- _everyone's_ manner was a bit off.

"I think they'll have to go to London, I honestly do," Mrs. Patmore was saying. "If it keeps up, that is. You can't _live_ like this. I can't even _sleep_."

"Aye, I feel exactly the same," Mrs. Hughes said. "It's miserable. I don't know how you two have managed to stay alone at night."

She was speaking to them. Jimmy slid his eyes over to Thomas, and for a horrible moment thought they both might start laughing, but Thomas answered her with perfect composure. "Well, I can't speak for James, but the spirits don't seem to be able to undo the bolt on my door."

"Lucky you," Mrs. Patmore said. "They came right into _my_ room and danced around with me clothes!"

Jimmy laughed, and so did Mrs. Hughes. Thomas stared at his food again.

Eventually Carson rose, and they all stood, except Mrs. Hughes, who remained staring absently into her tea.

"I am going to my office to try and complete some work," Carson announced. He sounded very tired. "The family told us to suspend _all_ services for the evening, and the Ambassador and his wife have their own people- but- Thomas- I would appreciate if you and James would turn off the lights after they return from their evening with the Dowager Countess."

Jimmy tried to imagine the family getting their _own_ selves ready for bed and failed.

"Yes, sir," Thomas said, and then Carson was gone.

"He's not taking it very well," Mrs. Hughes said, sounding far away. "I suppose it is a bit scary."

"And O'Brien? Has anyone seen her?" Thomas asked, looking up suddenly.

"No, I haven't seen her," Mrs. Hughes said, and Mrs. Patmore shook her head. "Nor have I."

"How do we know she's not dead up there?" Thomas asked.

"I've heard her," Mrs. Hughes said. "Talking. In her room."

"To _whom_?" Jimmy asked, feeling a chill go up the back of neck.

Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "That I do not know, James, and I have no desire to find out."

Thomas looked- _worried_, for a minute, and Jimmy rolled his eyes at him. _How can you waste your worry on her, after what she tried to do?_

They sat and talked for a while longer, until after the family had been heard coming in, and ostensibly, going up to bed. "Well. Shall we, Mrs. Patmore?" Mrs Hughes asked, with a weary smile.

"We appear to have no other choice," Mrs. Patmore said.

"Goodnight," Jimmy told them, and when they had gone, Thomas put out his cigarette and stood. "Let's go get the lights," he said. "I hope we don't run into the medium."

Upstairs felt even more haunted than down. He could hear nobody moving within the house. Not even the babies cried, and Jimmy wondered if they hadn't been spirited- no, that was a bad choice of words- _taken_ away and placed in some safer environment.

"Let's go," Jimmy said, when they had flipped their last switch. "All these big quiet rooms." He didn't finish the thought, and it hung there, giving him the chills.

They went downstairs, and Thomas turned away abruptly when Jimmy looked at him. "I'm tired," Thomas said. Jimmy followed him up to his bedroom, and Thomas looked at him uncomfortably, opening the door. Jimmy took a step forward, and Thomas took a step back.

"Listen, Jimmy," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper, though there was nobody around to hear it. "I-" He looked into Jimmy's face, his own features tense. Jimmy wanted to reach out and run his hand along Thomas's sharp cheek. "I'd love to have you- have you spend the _night_," Thomas said, and rubbed the back of his own neck with the knuckles of his left hand. "But I-" Thomas closed his eyes briefly. "I need you to give me a couple of minutes to myself," Thomas finished, his voice almost inaudible.

Jimmy's first reaction was to be hurt, but then he took Thomas's meaning, and blushed. _Oh_.

"Oh," he said, forcing his way into Thomas's room. "No, you don't need to do that. I want us to- ah, that is, I mean-" he stared up at Thomas's drawn face, and then came closer, so that he was a finger's length away from where Thomas stood.

"I mean I want us to do that _together_," Jimmy managed to articulate, and then turned around to bolt the door.

Thomas stayed standing, his posture slouched and not at all typical. "You don't need to do that, Jimmy," he said, running a hand though his hair. "I don't need that from you. I swear if we never did anything more than what we- than what we did last night- I'd still be the happiest man on earth."

It was a touching speech, but Jimmy grabbed his arms, annoyed, and steered him backwards, towards the bed. "Well _I_ wouldn't be happy without 'anything more'," Jimmy said, "And neither would anyone else, if they were in their right mind." He shoved Thomas back, lightly, and Thomas complied, sitting down. Jimmy sat down next to him- it seemed almost normal now, to sit next to Thomas on the bed- and started taking off his clothes.

"Give me your spare pyjamas," Jimmy said, tugging on Thomas's sleeve. Thomas got up, looking put out, and walked over to the dresser. He threw the clothes at Jimmy's head. "Thank you kindly," Jimmy said, laughing. He stripped off his shirt- and suddenly he was _embarrassed_- with Thomas there on the other side of the room, looking at him.

Jimmy stood and turned to face the wall. _Don't let your nerves get the better of you_, he told himself firmly, and undressed completely, redressing in Thomas's clothes. They smelled clean, with hints of sweet tobacco and aftershave. Jimmy rolled up the cuffs of the pants and sat down crosslegged and barefooted, on the cot.

Thomas was just finishing, pulling on his top without undoing the buttons. Jimmy caught a glimpse of his bare skin, as he had the night before, and took a breath.

"Okay," Jimmy said, patting the bed. "Come here."

"I _am_," Thomas shot back, and sat down next to him.

Jimmy turned his face to Thomas's immediately. "I want to do it all tonight," Jimmy said, firmly. _No backing out now._ "Everything."

Thomas gave him a strange look. "_Everything?_" He repeated.

"You know," Jimmy said, trying to stay matter-of-fact in tone. "All of it. What you do with-" he lowered his voice. "With _other men_."

"There are many things you can do with other _men_," Thomas said, grinning at his discomfort. "Try to be more specific."

"Like, oh, I don't know," Jimmy waved his hand helplessly in the air. Finally he sighed, defeated. "Sodomy," he muttered, looking away from Thomas. "That's what I want to try."

Thomas burst out laughing. _"Sodomy?"_ he asked, leaning back, his eyes half-closed with mirth.

"Yes, _sodomy_," Jimmy hissed, burning with embarrassment.

Thomas rested against the wire frame that served for a headboard, and lit a cigarette. He took a drag, considering Jimmy, with an amused smile on his lips that Jimmy found infuriating.

"I don't think you could handle _sodomy_," Thomas said, after a minute. Jimmy glared at him. "Don't be ridiculous!" he said, inching closer to Thomas. "Of _course_ I can! If you can handle it, I can handle it!"

Thomas didn't answer him for a moment, and Jimmy peered into his face. "You have done it, haven't you?" he asked Thomas, nervously.

Thomas raised an eyebrow at him and took another drag, but then relented, nodding. "Yes," he said.

"And...and how is it?" Jimmy asked, trying to be nonchalant.

"It's lovely," Thomas said, and blew out a cloud of smoke. He looked at Jimmy. "But it's not for you."

"_What_?" Jimmy asked, outraged.

"Not yet, I mean," Thomas amended. "You're a bit green."

"I am not!' Jimmy said, sitting upright. "Just because I haven't had a _hundred_ lovers, like you undoubtedly have-"

"Five. I've had five lovers," Thomas said.

Jimmy stopped, looking at him. "Is that all?"

"It's not as easy for me to go and find somebody as it is for _you_," Thomas said, pushing his hair away from his face as though it had offended him. "Being like I am limits your options."

"Well, now your options are limited to _one_, and this one wants to try it," Jimmy said, pointing at himself emphatically- and apparently comically, because Thomas snickered again.

"What's so funny?" Jimmy asked. He wanted to be mad at Thomas, but found it to be a fruitless endeavor, and lay down next to him on the cot.

"Just this," Thomas said, gesturing with his good hand towards the pair of them. "It's so strange. A week ago I would have given everything I had for a kiss from you, and now you're in my bed, telling me you want to sodomize me."

Jimmy laughed, but then shook his head. "No, that's not right," he said, kissing Thomas's cheek.

"Oh?" Thomas asked, looking at him. Jimmy thought he saw contentment in Thomas's face, but it was hard to read his eyes.

"Hmm," Jimmy said, kissing his face again, more deliberately. Half-slumped atop Thomas as he was, he could feel Thomas's heart rate go up a bit. "No," Jimmy went on, between kisses. "I want you to do it to me. That's what I want. I've thought about this." That was a lie- Jimmy hadn't thought about it at all, really, except in an abstracted way- but he felt determined, suddenly, that it was what he wanted. The idea made him feel weak. He pressed his lips to Thomas's.

They kissed for a moment, and then Thomas pulled back, looking at him. "_Why _would you think I've had a hundred lovers?" He asked Jimmy, suspiciously, and Jimmy grinned guiltily. _Caught_.

"I didn't, " he admitted. "I just wanted you to tell me how many you've had."

Thomas reached out with his cigarette-less hand and messed up Jimmy's hair, looking amused. "Sneaky," He said, and neatly flicked the cigarette into the ash tray, where it burned for a moment before dying.

"So," Jimmy asked, laying half-atop Thomas and giving him his nicest smile. "Let's do _that_ then, yes?"

"No," Thomas said immediately. "You can't handle it."

"Because you don't _trust_ me!" Jimmy said, jabbing an index finger into Thomas's ribs. "You don't trust me enough to do it to _you_, and you don't trust me enough to do it to _me_."

"Well," Thomas said, considering the statement, "I suppose that's one way of putting it."

"Because of _before_," Jimmy groaned. "But I _told_ you-" He broke off, frowning at Thomas's easy smile. He was enjoying Jimmy's frustration. Jimmy had no intention of letting him keep the upper hand. "But I trust _you,_" Jimmy said, forcing a pleasant tone.

"That's very kind. You may be the first," Thomas said. Jimmy pinched him for his insouciance.

"But how can you be in love with me if you don't trust me?" Jimmy asked. Thomas raised his shoulders in an elaborate shrug. "Just how I am, I suppose," He replied. Jimmy studied his fascinating face. _That's fine, I'll just have to get you to change your mind,_ He thought, and arranged himself more completely on Thomas.

Thomas looked up at him, his face momentarily wiped of all expression, and Jimmy thought of his face in the theatre. _You want me_, he thought, the satisfaction making him feel warm inside, and pressed his chest against Thomas's, and lined their legs up.

For a moment Jimmy forgot his ultimate goal and just lay there, listening to Thomas's heartbeat.

"It sounds so strange to say, but I can't believe how lucky we are to alive," He mumbled, talking more to the heartbeat than the man himself. Thomas wrapped his arms around Jimmy, tightly, and they lay together for a moment.

"Sometimes luckier than others," Jimmy allowed, and turned his face, to kiss Thomas's mouth. "You have girl's lips," Jimmy said, biting the little silver scar that Thomas had gotten for him.

"Oh, _thank_ you," Thomas said, ducking his head in a parody of gratitude. "What fine things you say."

"Mmm, kiss me again," Jimmy said, and Thomas kissed him- _really_ kissed him, not holding back, with one arm around Jimmy's waist, holding him still, and the other one in his hair. He parted lips lips, feeling Thomas's tongue inside his mouth. Something about it was too- too _intimate_ to be borne, and Jimmy moaned. "Ahh, _yes_," He said, and moved his body against Thomas.

Thomas moved back against him without Jimmy telling him to. His face was a mask of effort- his brow knitted, his lips parted, his eyes squeezed almost shut- and he pressed upwards, against Jimmy, with none of the hesitation he had shown the night before. "_Oh,_" Jimmy moaned, and pushed back down onto him with equal force. "That," Jimmy babbled, whispering as they rocked- "That, that feels amazing... uh, _amazing_, yes-"

Thomas didn't answer him, just moved against his body. His movements- the _feeling_ of it- made Jimmy want to cry out loudly enough to wake every last member of the house, and they also made him afraid, as though he was in charge of something powerful, something that could hurt him if he let it. Jimmy kissed Thomas again, and then slid off of him. Thomas's eyes flew open. Jimmy watched him regain his composure, snapping his mouth shut and sitting up.

"Let's take off our clothes," Jimmy said, and unbuttoned the first button on Thomas's shirt, as if to give him a practical example. "And get under the sheets," Jimmy added, hurriedly.

Thomas slanted a look up at him, and then climbed under the coverlet. "Are you-"

"Sure. Yes." Jimmy said, and, taking a deep breath, peeled off his clothes before he could think about it- first his shirt, then his pants. He sat quite naked for a moment, feeling the chill in the room, and pulled the sheets back, sliding into the bed against Thomas. Thomas was kicking off his pyjamas. Jimmy lifted the coverlet, to get a good look at unclothed Thomas, and then pulled it back up, blushing like a virgin.

They could not lay side by side without some parts of their anatomy rubbing against each other. The head of Thomas's erection pressed against Jimmy's hip. Jimmy felt lightheaded, delirious with desire and fear. _Who's larger?_ Jimmy thought, and pulled back the sheets again, just a for second, before re-covering them. _Thomas._ "Damn," Jimmy said aloud.

"What?" Thomas asked, looking at him. Jimmy shook his head, arranging himself more comfortably. Thomas took a hitching breath as his penis slid over the skin of Jimmy's hip, and Jimmy let his eyes close for a second. He had never, not ever, wanted anything like he wanted this. "Touch me now," He commanded, and Thomas ran his hands over his chest. Jimmy looked into his eyes, which were wide with something like wonder. "You love me," Jimmy said, and then tugged at Thomas's left hand, the material of the glove irritating him. "Take that off. No. I'll do it." Gently he stripped Thomas of the last article he wore. Thomas's lips parted when Jimmy kissed his hand.

"Now," Jimmy said, and looked at Thomas's face. He ran his hands over Thomas's chest, along his side, and finally reached down, to wrap his hands around Thomas's erection. "_Ah_," Thomas moaned, his eyes falling shut. Jimmy touched him experimentally- it wasn't so scary, after all, but familiar, of course it would be familiar- and then Thomas reached out, unbidden, to touch him in return. Jimmy felt the press of his palms- one smooth, one rough- against his own hardness, and took a shaky breath. "Oh, oh, _yes,_" He muttered, leaning forward to kiss Thomas. "Yes, yes, that's perfect, it really is-"

"You talk _so _much," Thomas said raggedly, kissing him again. Jimmy didn't take it as a criticism, not when the other man was so utterly lost in Jimmy's touch. Jimmy stopped touching him for a second, making Thomas groan with frustration- and lifted the coverlet once more, to take in the sight of their bodies together. "You're beautiful, you know," he told Thomas, wrapping them in the sheets and obscuring the sight- "I never thought that about _anyone_ before, not really- but _you _are."

"That's because you're a narcissist," Thomas mumbled. Jimmy wrapped his fingers around Thomas's erection again, to wipe the trace of smugness from his lust-soaked voice. "You feel good," Jimmy said, lowly, and felt dangerous for having said it, but it made Thomas close his eyes, his body straining towards Jimmy's. Thomas grasped Jimmy's penis again, and Jimmy gasped, as Thomas rubbed his palms up and down the length of it.

"Jimmy-" Thomas said, unable to complete the thought. His breath came in short pants that were almost gasps. "_Ah_," he moaned, and Jimmy felt as though he were burning from head to toe. _This_ was pleasure- what it was supposed to feel like. He had never known. "Mmm, Thomas," Jimmy said, feeling Thomas's body start to tense- "Wait, wait a moment-"

Thomas dropped his hold on Jimmy, taking dragging breaths, and Jimmy relaxed the pressure of his hand against Thomas, not pulling away entirely. Thomas put his hands to his face- an unconscious imitation of what he had done in the theatre, when he had been too aroused to even move. His hips jerked forward, pressing into Jimmy's hands, once- convulsively- and then Thomas held still. Jimmy looked at him, trying to get his own body to relax. He wanted Thomas so much that he had to physically restrain himself from moving closer.

"Too much?" Thomas asked him, through his hands. He couldn't see Jimmy, but Jimmy shook his head _no_, slowly. Thomas rested his head back on the pillow, spreading his fingers apart, slowly, so that he could look at Jimmy between them. "Tell me," Jimmy said, running a hand through Thomas's hair- "what it's like."

"What?" Thomas asked. His lips were so swollen looking that Jimmy had to lean forward and kiss him. Their erections brushed together as he moved, and they both groaned. "Mmm," Jimmy said, pulling away from Thomas's mouth- "Tell me what _it's_ like. Don't make me say it again."

"Sodomy?" Thomas asked, faintly. The humor in his voice paled in comparison to the desire.

"Yes," Jimmy said. Thomas dropped his hands. "To do or to have done _to_ you?" Thomas asked.

"To _have_ done," Jimmy answered, and bit Thomas's lip.

"Uhm," Thomas said, exhaling shakily. "First it hurts. Then it doesn't hurt. And then it feels good."

Jimmy felt his throat get tight. "I want that," He said, pressing close to Thomas, looking into his face. "I want _you _to do that to _me,_ I want that, please."

Thomas half sat up, looking at him warily. "Jimmy," he said, a warning in his unsteady voice. Jimmy took no heed. "_Please_," He said, insistently, pushing against Thomas, his body throbbing with desire. "It's right, it's what I want, I know it is-"

"...If you want, you can do that to me," Thomas said, in the haggard tones of someone conferring a great boon. "But not the other way. It's _painful,_ you, know, especially at first-"

"I _will _do it to you sometimes," Jimmy answered, brashly. He felt borne up by the strength of his convictions. "But this is how I want it to be _now_." When Thomas didn't say _no _right away, Jimmy shook him, excitedly. "Come on," he pleaded. "Thomas. You want to. I know you do."

Thomas let his eyes fall shut, sighing, and then tilted his chin up at Jimmy. "We'll try it," He said, after a long moment in which the only sound was their breathing. "But you're not going to like it. You're going to panic."

"I will _not_," Jimmy said, with more confidence than he felt. He didn't care. Even if he _did_ suffer and attack of nerves. It would be worth it. To feel Thomas inside of him. His stomach dropped at the thought, his nerves lighting dangerously ablaze. "So," he asked, when Thomas didn't make any move, "What do we _do_?"

Thomas laughed, a hollow sound, underpinned by arousal. "We can't just start banging away," he said, making Jimmy blush. "You have to- it's too _tight_, y'see," Thomas went on. "God. I can't believe we're talking about this."

_Me either,_ Jimmy thought, but he moved closer to Thomas, feeling the other man's body against him. "Go on," he said, avoiding Thomas's eyes by studying the lines of his collarbones.

"We'll need hand creme or petrol jelly," Thomas said. "You have to use that, first, with- with your fingers."

Jimmy couldn't understand, for a moment, what Thomas was talking about- but then he got it. _Oh, God, _ he thought, ducking his head. _Come on, Jimmy,_ he told himself. _You want this worse than anything, don't you? Don't bow out now._

"Do you do that to me or do _I_ do that to me?" Jimmy asked, aiming for nonchalance. His voice broke, and he covered it with a cough.

"Whichever way," Thomas said. His face had flushed from talking about it. Jimmy took that as a good sign, and leaned forward, to kiss the base of Thomas's throat. "Well, get us some jelly," Jimmy said, with more bravado than he felt.

Thomas regarded him for a moment longer, and then swung his legs out of the bed, crossing the room, to stand at his dresser. Jimmy watched, him taking in the sight of naked Thomas- his legs, chest, his arms, all perfectly proportioned- his penis- very hard still- rising up against his abdomen. The sight made Jimmy's heart pound. "You're beautiful," he said again, as Thomas palmed a glass jar and came back over to the bed. He sat down next to Jimmy, one eyebrow raised.

"I'm _fine_," Jimmy said, shoving one hand lightly against Thomas's shoulder. "I- I'll do it to myself, though," He said, as Thomas unscrewed the lid.

"Be my guest," Thomas said. His eyes had gone dark, and Jimmy stared into them, transfixed. Then, carefully, he scooped a bit of jelly onto his finger. "Well, don't _look_," he said, when Thomas didn't move. "Get back under here with me."

Thomas set the jar aside and pulled the blankets over himself. They lay next to each other, not moving for a long moment. Then Jimmy, screwing up his courage, rolled over, so that he lay on his side facing away from Thomas. _Less embarrassing if you don't have to look at him, _he thought, and brought his hand down against his own backside. He willed his arm to move. It would not.

"I feel bloody _ridiculous_," Jimmy said, flipping over, annoyed. _I wish I had a drink_. He leveled Thomas with a stare. "You'll have to do it to me, then."

Thomas started to shake his head, and Jimmy grabbed his right hand, unceremoniously smearing Thomas's fingers with the jelly. "I'm _serious_," He said, and rolled over again, his face burning. Thomas, behind him, remained motionless, and Jimmy reached back, pulling on his fingers.

"I don't think-" Thomas said, carefully, but Jimmy twisted Thomas's hand, forcefully. "_Do_ it, I bloody well _want_ it," He growled, and Thomas exhaled, as though he'd been holding his breath.

"Alright, Jimmy, alright," Thomas said, and slid down a little ways on the bed.

Jimmy's body broke out in gooseflesh at the touch of Thomas's hand. "Come _on_," he hissed, moving backwards, and Thomas's finger pressed into him. Jimmy flinched back, his muscles fighting the intrusion, but then forced himself still.

"Steady, be steady, be calm-" Thomas was saying, his voice a soothing refrain. Jimmy felt as if the rest of his body had disappeared, there was only the point at which Thomas pushed inside of him.

Jimmy took a series of long, deep breaths, growing accustomed to the feeling. "This- this isn't so bad," he said. From somewhere, himself maybe, came a shaky laugh. He wondered why the bed was moving and then realized it was only the trembling of his own body.

Looking up, he could see the side of Thomas's face. Thomas was looking down at him, his fine features etched with concern. "Alright?" He asked, and Jimmy nodded. _Yes._

"Do another, then," Jimmy said, shutting his eyes. "I'm ready."

He felt Thomas nod, because their bodies were pressed so close, and then Thomas pressed another finger into him. Jimmy moaned. Thomas's fingers felt enormous, like they were taking up more space than could possibly exist inside him. He could feel Thomas's heart beating in his fingertips, and somehow it was _that_, Jimmy thought, that made it all too much to bear.

"Oh, God," he said- quietly, he thought- he couldn't tell for sure- and moved back against Thomas's hand. Thomas took a stuttering breath. Jimmy gasped at the sensation that filled him- it was electric, and it ran straight through him, all the way to his erection. "Yes, like that," Jimmy moaned, moving against him faster. Thomas kept his fingers frustratingly still, until Jimmy, desperate to be closer, said "God yes do _that_ to me, please yes, move your hand, move, _please-_"

Thomas complied, pulling Jimmy closer to him with his left hand and pressing deeper into him. "_Oh_," Thomas said, behind him somwhere, and Jimmy, wanting to be nearer still, grabbed for Thomas's left hand, pushing his lips down on Thomas's injured fingers, grazing them with his teeth, and sucking. Thomas let out a strangled sound, rocking his hand back and forth in at a maddeningly slow rate. Jimmy pulled his mouth away, gasping for air, and Thomas stilled the motion of his hand.

"Yes," Jimmy said, trying to control the jerky movements of his body. "Yes," he said again, nodding emphatically at the wall. "Let's do that, now, can we?" His heart seemed like it would jump out of his chest. Thomas withdrew his fingers slowly, making Jimmy wince. "Ouch," He said, turning to face Thomas.

"This will hurt a _lot_ more," Thomas said, looking at him. Thomas was quite pale. If not for his obvious arousal (and his state of undress) he could have been going to a funeral.

"Don't be scared," Jimmy said, and leaned forward to kiss him. "You're wonderful." He smiled, wrapping an arm around Thomas's shoulders. "How should I lay?"

Thomas seemed as though he might balk at the moment of truth. He raked his hair across his brow, a worried gesture. "I don't know-" he said, staring at Jimmy. "Maybe we shouldn't-"

"No, don't be that way," Jimmy said. "I love you, you know. Not just because the Lieutenant wanted me to tell you. I really do."

Thomas's mouth twitched up- in happiness or nervousness, Jimmy couldn't tell. "That's very nice, Jimmy, but you don't have to say that," Thomas murmured, like a man in a dream.

"It's very difficult _not_ to love you," Jimmy said, and lay back on the mattress. "You're going to be positively ecstatic that I said that to you, later, when you're in your right mind. You'll see."

"Right," Thomas said, nodding. "Put- ah, put your knees up," He said, bending one of Jimmy's legs. Jimmy looked up at him, his pulse racing wildly. Thomas seemed undone, kneeling there on the bed, his whole body drained of color, so that the only dark spots were his hair, his lips, and the head of his penis. _I love you_, Jimmy thought, and the thought made him brave. Thomas shifted forward, and knelt between Jimmy's legs, rubbing the petrol jelly on his own erection, the sight of it so erotic that Jimmy made an involuntary sound. "Yes," Jimmy said, arching up to look at him, "Come here-"

Thomas paused between his legs, and then crawled up the length of Jimmy's body, angling his hips down. Jimmy could feel Thomas against him. "Please," he whispered, and Thomas looked into his eyes, and then down, doing something with his hand while his other hand braced him up over Jimmy. "Ready?" He asked, and Jimmy nodded. "Ready," he whispered back, and lifted up his neck, so that he could kiss Thomas's jaw.

Thomas pushed into him- and there was no way fingers could have ever prepared him for this, fingers were nothing compared to _this_, it was far too much-

Jimmy's body fought back against the intrusion, and he had to use ever bit of his control not to sock Thomas across his face. He forced his fist to unclench only centimeters from Thomas's head, and slapped Thomas lightly with his palm before he could stop himself, right along the cheek- and then pulled back roughly, hurting himself.

"_Ouch,_" Jimmy hissed, crawling backwards- "Don't-"

Thomas had dropped back to sit on his heels, and Jimmy saw a stricken look bloom across his face. "This was a bad idea," he said, more to himself than to Jimmy.

"No- no, I just panicked, like you _said_ I would," Jimmy said, willing himself to relax. "Come back over here," he said, holding his arms out to Thomas, who wore a worried frown that bothered Jimmy to no end. "I want to do it. Hey, I just got a bit nervous-"

When Thomas didn't move, Jimmy crawled over to thim, and put his hand to Thomas's face. "I _love_ you," he said, firmly, and kissed Thomas solemnly. "Now come back and sodomize me."

That got him a half-smile, but Thomas's brow was still furrowed with concern. "I don't know," He said, studying Jimmy, as though the answer lay somewhere on his skin. Jimmy leaned back, tugging on his arms, and Thomas folded over him. They lay with their faces close. Jimmy could see the light tracings of veins underneath Thomas's skin. "Please," he said, again, and Thomas crawled into the position that he'd been in before. Jimmy could see that he was trembling quite violently. _That makes two of us,_ he thought, and took a deep breath.

"I'm going to go very slowly," Thomas said, in a taut voice. "Tell me if it's too much, and I'll stop straight away."

"Yes, go on," Jimmy said, thickly. He forced himself not to jump away when Thomas pressed into him again- just a little bit. They stayed very still, breathing together, and after an eternity of time Jimmy nodded. "More," he said. He felt like his body was being overfilled. _It's too much_, he thought, _I'll die-_

Finally Thomas was fully inside of him. Jimmy could feel his erection, not indirectly, as he had imagined it, but as the _only_ thing, blocking out conscious thought.

"Hm," Thomas said, his eyes shut, making a frown of effort. He stayed very still.

"It does _stop_ hurting at some point, right?" Jimmy asked him, breathlessly.

Thomas nodded, his eyes flying open to assess Jimmy's face. "Should I stop now?" He asked. Jimmy heard an enormous effort to speak calmly behind his words.

"No," Jimmy said, touching Thomas's face. "Stay here with me."

They held pressed together without moving, and gradually Jimmy's awareness of his body came back- he was terribly aroused, he discovered- he hadn't expected it, after all the pain- and Thomas, against him and within him, shook with the concerted effort of holding himself up and still.

"That feels better," Jimmy whispered, stroking a thumb along Thomas's brow. "Hmm. Will you move a little?" he asked, not knowing why he should feel shy at such a moment.

Thomas nodded, pressing his lips together, and pushed against Jimmy- the slightest bit- and then pulled back, infinitesimally. "_Oh_," Jimmy said, at the movement. "That's- yes-"

Thomas pressed into him again, as carefully as before, and Jimmy moaned. The sensation was overwhelming. "_That feels so good_," Jimmy breathed, wondering at how it could be so, when it had hurt so much before.

"Good- I'm glad-" Thomas whispered, against him, but his voice was now so rough with lust that Jimmy could barely understand what he said. "Thomas," he moaned, not caring how he sounded, beyond caring- _"_Yes_, yes-_"

From somewhere, as rapturously as in a dream, the sounds of Chopin's third sonata came pouring into the room, but Jimmy scarcely heard anything. His body had receded to one point of awareness again, but this time he felt pleasure instead of pain, and the pleasure was ten times as overwhelming as the pain had ever been.

He rocked back and forth against Thomas's erection, moaning each time that Thomas pushed into him or pulled out of him. He wrapped his hands forcefully around Thomas's upper arms, and pushed up, taking more of him. Thomas gasped, keeping his thrusts even and not too hard, and he moaned when Jimmy kissed his mouth clumsily.

"_Ah," _Thomas said, driving into Jimmy's body. Jimmy snarled in frustration, dragging him forward by the arms. _"More, _please more," Jimmy said, biting down hard on Thomas's lip, then getting pushed roughly away from his mouth by the motion of their bodies. He moved more quickly against Thomas, feeling an intense pleasure twist away inside of him.

Thomas was whispering something with stuttering lips, like a prayer. His arms shook so that Jimmy had no idea how they could hold him up. "Harder," Jimmy said, and Thomas, with a noise that sounded like a sob, increased his movements.

"I can't, I can't, I can't, _ah_- ah, _yes_," Thomas muttered, into Jimmy's ear, his hips pushing Jimmy down into the mattress. Jimmy, unable to get a breath, rocked back against him, as hard as he could stand it, for long minutes, his pleasure expanding until it filled his entire body, and he could not even form words.

"Yes, oh, yes, oh _please, I can't-"_ Thomas was still whispering nonsense in his ears, his body inside of Jimmy's the best thing Jimmy had ever felt, could ever imagine feeling. Thomas ran his free hand along Jimmy's neck, his chest, through his hair- and Jimmy, holding his eyes open only by greatest effort, even as his mouth spilled unintelligible sounds, could see tears in Thomas's eyes. His face had bloomed with color. His lips, which he pressed against Jimmy over and over between his garbled words, felt like they were made of fire.

"God, Thomas- Thomas. I _love_ you," Jimmy bit out, and pushed against Thomas as hard as he could, slamming against Thomas's hipbones. _I can't make it,_ he thought, _I'm going to-_

"_Ah, _ah-" Thomas moaned into Jimmy's ear at the movement, and moved his body answeringly, in series of short, sharp thrusts, making Jimmy cry at the sensation.

"_Jimmy_," Thomas said, and then moved again, in that same sharp way against him, making Jimmy's body ache unbearably with a pain that was also pleasure- and then Thomas was bowing over him, moaning without any words at all, reaching out his hand to stroke Jimmy's erection- Thomas's whole body tensed, as though it would snap- and he shut his eyes, his face rigid. Jimmy held Thomas by the shoulders, and kissed him, as gently as he could, feeling Thomas thrust inside him again, unbearably hard, and then go still, his body shuddering.

Thomas slumped on top of him, and rested his head in the crook of Jimmy's neck for a second- and then grasped Jimmy's erection again, pulling on it, his lips pressing kisses to Jimmy's neck, and Jimmy moaned. "_Ah,_" He said, tugging on Thomas's arm, "Thomas- _Thomas_, I'm going to-"

"Right," Thomas said, and increased the speed of his hand. Jimmy threw his head back, trying to escape from the sensation, it was too much- he was going to-

_"_Oh, _god, oh, oh-" _Jimmy moaned, and came, rocking against Thomas's body.

For a long moment Jimmy could hear nothing but a ringing in his ears. Then he was pulled slowly back to awareness, dragged bit by bit, by the feeling of Thomas's body pressed against his. Thomas's shoulders were shaking. For a moment Jimmy thought he was shaking from exertion, and then he tilted his head down to get a better view of Thomas's face, and saw tears running down his cheeks.

"Are you crying?" Jimmy asked, trying to sit up to get a better view of him, and Thomas moved back, pulling out of him- making Jimmy flinch at the sensation- and wiped his eyes with the back of one hand. "No," Thomas said. Jimmy gripped his hand and wrested it away from his face. They grappled for a moment, both of them too weak to really make it an impressive struggle, and then Jimmy pulled Thomas down against him. They lay still for a long moment, not speaking. Jimmy felt like he was falling asleep.

"Thanks, I feel much better now," He murmured, into Thomas's ear. Thomas sighed, and wrapped his arms around Jimmy. "I do, also," he said, and Jimmy kissed the bridge of his nose.

"We needed to do that," Jimmy said, settling into the pillow. Thomas cracked one eye open at him, his brow crooking up. "Not for the _ghosts_," Jimmy said, smiling. "For us. It was making me go _mad_ that we hadn't. Only I was too-" He waved the fingers of his right hand, vaguely, and then stroked his fingers up and down Thomas's back. "I love you," Jimmy said, ruffling Thomas's dark hair.

"You don't know that," Thomas whispered, into his neck. Jimmy rolled his eyes. "I know it as certainly as you know how you feel about me. Especially after _that_."

"You mean it?" Thomas asked, looking up at him, unguarded for once. "Really?"

"I promise," Jimmy said. "We have to do that every night." Exhaustion warred with giddiness inside him. Jimmy kissed the top of Thomas's head, and then his forehead, and then his brow, right above his eyes.

"I don't know if we can get away with it _every_ night," Thomas said, considering the possibility.

"Well, some nights we'll switch," Jimmy offered, making Thomas smile.

"I mean, without getting _caught_," Thomas amended, and then took a deep breath, and embraced Jimmy tightly. "Every night," Jimmy said, firmly. "If they catch us, we'll just find new jobs. Jobs outside of service, or something. I don't bloody care. As long as I have you I don't care."

"Thank you," Thomas said, very quietly.

"For what?" Jimmy asked, touching Thomas's lips.

"I wasn't talking to _you_," Thomas said, turning to face him.

"I'm glad I can induce you to pray," Jimmy said, laughing. His body still trembled, and he wanted nothing so much as to sleep wrapped up with Thomas. _I can't bear to leave you, not even for a night_, Jimmy thought, looking at Thomas's face. "Let's go to bed and do that again in the morning," Jimmy suggested, after a beat.

"Mmmm." Thomas was already closing his eyes. His breath, more even now, moved strands of Jimmy's hair. "Goodnight, Mr. Barrow, my love," Jimmy said, smiling at his own nerve.

"Wait," Thomas said, sitting bolt upright. "Do you hear that?"

The sweet contented look was gone off his face, replaced a look that indicated he was listening intently. Then Jimmy heard it: shouting from outside of the house, furious shouting, the sounds of doors being slammed, the barking of the dog.

"What's going _on_?" Jimmy whispered. Thomas was looking back at him with wide eyes. Jimmy heard a door slamming in the hall- Awful Alfred, ostensibly, he was the only other person sleeping on the floor- and then his footsteps, running quickly and loudly away down the stairs.

Thomas flew from the bed, his face tense, and began to pull on his clothes as quickly as he could. "Get dressed," He said, to Jimmy, and Jimmy nodded, and climbed out of the bed. His body hurt in strange new ways.

They both dressed, not speaking. The silence was only broken by muffled sounds of shouting. It sounded eerie and remote, as though the end of the world were going on outside.

Thomas looked at him, pulling on his coat without buttoning it. He was still barefoot. "Count to one hundred and then come after me," He said, and turned the bolt, vanishing into the hallway.

Jimmy put on his shirt with trembling hands. What new horror was this? _Is it the spirits?_ He shivered, counting silently, giving enough time so it wouldn't look as though they had gone together. "_Thirty-one, one-thousand, thirty-two, one-thousand-" _At forty-six, Jimmy decided that propriety could be damned, and bolted out into the hallway, terrified to be in it alone. He skidded down the stairs and bounded through the servant's hall in two strides, noticing as he ran through that the door had been left wide open. By Thomas a minute before, probably, but still it gave him chills.

Jimmy ran around the outside of the house, tripping over stone paths, towards the sound of the voices. There was a strange _light_ emanating from the yard- a reddish light that looked _unnatural_- and Jimmy sprinted towards it, although the terrified voice of his thoughts begged him to turn round and run the other way. He stumbled to a halt at the corner of the northern side of the house, seeing _everyone- _everyone who lived at Downton- standing in front of him, still, in their nightclothes. They all faced away from Jimmy, towards the flowering trees that lined the house in an ornamental row. Thomas stood near the front, his face uptilted, his eyes open.

The trees were on fire. All nine of them blazed, from their pinnacles in the air, with a red flame that did not _look_ like real fire, although even from where Jimmy stood he could feel a tremendous wall of heat. No one was screaming anymore. Lord Grantham stood, with no regard for rank or position, at the elbow of Mrs. Patmore, and they glanced sideways at each other in awe, as if to say _Do you see that?_

The flames had caught the trees, turning them into giant torches all- but the fire held them without _consuming_ them- they did not crumble, or blacken, or turn to ash. They merely burned, as if they would burn forever.

Lady Mary took a step forward, to stand up next to Thomas, and raised her arm up, as though she were going to shake hands. "It's beautiful," Jimmy heard her say, over the roar of the flames.

_My God, _Jimmy thought, dizzily, _what is happening?_

As if in answer to his question, Madame Nicodème's voice rang out somewhere away from him, in the crush of people. "It's the end!" She shouted, to everyone, apprently- her young-sounding voice ringing out as high and clear as a bell, even over the crackling conflagration. "They're saying _goodbye_!"

Jimmy watched Lady Mary's upstretched hand begin to wave goodbye. "I _love_ you!" Mary shouted into the flames, and then everybody started speaking at once:

"Goodbye, my darling," Lady Grantham said, from right beside him, making Jimmy jump. He hadn't even noticed her standing there.

"Goodbye! _Goodbye_!" Came a rousing cheer, from all the way on the other end of the crowd- the stableboys and the hallboys had shouted, all together.

"And don't come back no more!" added one of them, brazenly.

"Goodbye to you!" Said Mrs. Hughes. Jimmy could see her, clasping his handkerchief over her heart.

"Thank you!" Someone shouted, Jimmy wasn't sure who. "Thank you for making me remember!"

"I'll miss you! I love you, Archie!" Mrs. Patmore, said, waving her plump hands furiously in the air, her eyes running with tears.

Jimmy took a few fumbling steps forward, to stand at Thomas's elbow. Thomas stared into the flames, as if enraptured. He raised his hand up, as Lady Mary had done. "Good-bye," Thomas said- or Jimmy thought he had said it, his lips had shaped those words, anyways, even if he had not said them aloud.

"I love you!" Came the voices from behind him. "Goodbye!" "Until will meet again!" "I love you, I'll _always_ love you-" "No, my dear, I did not forget!" "I'm _sorry_!" "Thank you!" "Good-bye!" "_Good_-_bye_-" "_Goodbye_, Patrick-" "Goodbye, Matthew-" "Don't forget us! Not yet!"

And it seemed to Jimmy that the voices came not just from behind him but from in _front_ of him, in the fiery hearts of the trees themselves, as though they and the speakers were engaged in the same conversation, terribly bittersweet, repeating words back to one another.

"Goodbye, Sybil," Mr. Branson said, at his back. "God knows how I love you." Jimmy could not bring himself to take his eyes off of the flames- there were shapes he could not quite see, like flowers and lace and starry evenings, swirling inside of them, too bright to look at.

"Goodbye, old nug! I'll keep me chin up for you!" Shouted Awful Alfred, as loudly as he could, his words rising up over all the others, and the noise of the fire grew to an awful pitch, and Jimmy bent over, putting his hands to his ears. A figure came running past him- Jimmy saw that it was regular Alfred by his huge feet- with a fire bucket full of sand- and threw it, with poor aim, up at the closest of the roaring trees.

And just like that, as though Alfred had been a conjurer and the flames a party trick, the fires all winked out. There was not even a breath of smoke to bear witness to what had happened. The night was still. The trees were leafless, as they had every right to be at that time of year, but unharmed.

For a moment everyone was silent, and then Carson cleared his throat. "Well done, Alfred," Carson said, his voice a bit shaky.

"Oh, how _wonderful_!" Madame Nicodème pushed through the group, and threw her arms and her shawl over Carson's shoulders, embracing him on her toes. Before Carson could register this indignity, she planted a kiss on his cheek, and stepped away from him, turning in a slow circle.

"You're all very lucky," She said, "To be so loved!" Carson was wiping his cheek and the cuffs of his nightshirt in horror. Then everybody began speaking, in loud, animated voices. Awful Alfred and the Ambassador's wife embraced. Mrs. Hughes supported a faint-looking Mrs. Patmore, laughing and talking. Lord D'Abernon was handing out cigars to men and women alike. Lord Grantham held his wife, both of their faces stained with tears. Jimmy glimpsed O'Brien in the crowd, her face paler than the moon.

He turned to Thomas, who still stood staring at the barren trees. "Alright?" He asked him, and Thomas, blinking, looked over to him. "Yes," Thomas said, quietly, and smiled at Jimmy for a moment, before Madame Nicodème approached. Jimmy regarded her uncomfortably as she stopped in front of the pair of them.

"I don't know _what_ you've done, but you did it very well," Madame Nicodème said, placing her hand gently on Thomas's bad hand, which he had not taken time to cover with a glove. Jimmy looked down and remembered that Thomas's feet were bare. "You've satisfied your soldier. Now you can go on- but hopefully a little differently than before?"

Thomas nodded at her, his lips parted in a betrayal of surprise. "Yes, Mi'lady," He said, after a moment. The medium laughed, tossing back her hair. "Oh, I'm not any sort of _lady_!" She replied, delightedly, and gave his hand a last pat before turning to Jimmy.

"And _you_," She said, "Mr. James-who-prefers-Jimmy- have _you_ learned to straighten up and fly right?"

"I'm- I'm trying to learn," Jimmy said, too flabbergasted to be annoyed. "I'm _working_ on it."

"Well," Madame Nicodème said, nodding her approval, "that is the best than any of us can do."

She leaned in, to whisper to both of them- "I wish you all good things- in this life and the next!"

"And to you," Thomas said, politely, but she had already turned away. Miss Abernathy had appeared, at the edge of the crowd. She held a pocketwatch up, rather pointedly, and Jimmy saw that she was fully dressed in her men's livery.

"Thomas-" Jimmy asked, looking up at the other man- "Do you think it's _really _because we-"

He snapped his mouth shut as O'Brien appeared, at Thomas's shoulder, and Thomas, seeing his expression change, whirled quickly around. "What d'ya _want_?" Thomas snapped at her, but Jimmy had seen his eyes widen for a second, like he was _glad_ to see the abominable woman alive.

"Thomas," O'Brien said, uneasily, and then leaned up to whisper something into his ear. Thomas did not jerk away from her, but stood there listening. Jimmy tried to listen in as well, but he could catch nothing of what she said over the clamoring noise that everybody was making.

He was the only one, then, not looking into the faces of his compatriots, the only one who saw Madame Nicodème leave. She whispered one last aside to Lord Grantham, and kissed Lady D'Abernon on the cheek, and then wound her way through everybody, coming out at the edge of the house, where Miss Abernathy stood, waiting.

Miss Abernathy put her watch away, and, with the greatest of chivalry, held out her arm for the medium to take. Madame Nicodème's head turned, and she looked back around at the crowd, one last glance- her eyes lighting upon Jimmy- and she inclined her head, in a small acknowledgement.

"Good-bye," Jimmy said, quietly, and the pair of them turned away, arm in arm, and stepped around the corner of the house and out of sight.

Jimmy turned around- O'Brien and Thomas were still talking, but she no longer whispered into his ear. Instead they stood close, with their head inclined together, in the casual intimacy of friendship. "_I _really must, Thomas, or else I won't-" Jimmy could only hear snatches of what she said. "-so very _sorry_-"

_You should be, _Jimmy thought, and then looked up, away from everything, to admire the sky, which was dark and brilliant, touched with a limitless expanse of stars.

* * *

Everyone filed inside. Thomas and O'Brien kept their heads together for another few minutes, and Carson spoke to them all in the servants hall about how they'd better go sleep in their own rooms like civilized people and be ready for work in the morning. _Not bloody likely_, Jimmy thought, stealing a glance at Thomas. _I'll sleep with you._

"It's mad, though," Thomas said to O'Brien, stubbing out his cigarette.

"And what would you do, in my position?" O'Brien asked, lowly. Jimmy looked away from them, pretending not to be listening, as everyone shuffled out.

Thomas grinned at her, exhaling his last drag of smoke through his nostrils. "Well, I'm not _in_ your position, am I?"

"You should be glad of it," O'Brien muttered, darkly. "I'm going up. Goodnight."

She nodded at Jimmy, but he only stared back at her coolly, and she turned uncomfortably away.

"What's _her_ problem?" Jimmy asked Thomas when O'Brien left, jerking a thumb in the direction she'd gone.

"She's repenting," Thomas said, smirking. "She's going to have to be a good girl now, and no toes out of line."

"The spirits got to her?" Jimmy asked, feeling unease prickle the skin of his arms.

Thomas nodded. "So she says."

"And you're friends once more?" Jimmy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Judge not that ye be not judged," Thomas tossed out, raising an eyebrow to mirror JImmy's expression.

"I didn't know you read Shakespeare," Jimmy said, and Thomas laughed. "That's the _Bible_-"

He stopped, seeing Jimmy's expression. "Oh, very funny."

"Yes, I am," Jimmy agreed. They were alone in the kitchen now. He smiled, looking at Thomas's face- _I've never known_, Jimmy thought, the truth of it making his chest ache- _that you could love a face so much that it would hurt to look at. _He leaned close to Thomas, whispering in his ear: "I'm tired and my bloody arse hurts. Let's go to bed."

Thomas looked back at him, wide-eyed and trying to suppress laughter. "We shouldn't," He warned, but Jimmy waved it aside. "Now, Mr. Barrow," He said, wagging a finger- "Who are we to go against the wishes of ghosts?"

* * *

"The little mermaid lifted her glorified eyes towards the sun, and felt them, for the first time, filling with tears-"

Thomas dreamed of his childhood home. In his father's workshop he sat, very small, rocking back and forth on a wooden stool. The pieces of his father's trade littered benches, the lanterns casting everything in an orange tone.

His father was reading to him from his favorite book- a copy of _The Stories of Hans Christian Andersen_- not a very old book, but worn from repeated readings.

"Now, pay attention, Thomas," His father said, smiling at him over the rims of his spectacles. "It's your favorite part!"

"Yes, Father," Thomas said, transfixed. His father's deep voice went on: "On the ship, in which she had left the prince, there were life and noise; she saw him and his beautiful bride searching for her; sorrowfully they gazed at the pearly foam-"

Thomas moved his lips along with the words. He couldn't read very well, yet, but he felt each phrase as though it were engraved upon his heart; it was the first thing he had ever memorized.

" -as if they knew she had thrown herself into the waves," His father went on, smiling at Thomas's enthralled expression.

"Unseen she kissed the forehead of the bride, and fanned the prince, and then mounted with the other children of the air to a rosy cloud that floated through the aether."

"Through the _aether," _Thomas finished, along with him. There was something after- a moral, or a parable or something- but Thomas didn't care. That was where the _story _ended. He swung his legs dangerously far out from the stool. "Please, read it again!"

His father laughed, and with his laughter the room dissolved, and Thomas found himself all alone, in the village hospital. A hundred cots stretched out before him, all empty.

"I hope you will be happy," A voice said, and Thomas whirled around, to look into the blind eyes of Lieutenant Courtenay.

"Of course I will," Thomas said, reaching a hand out to him. "You fixed it for me, didn't you?"

The Lieutenant laughed, and grasped his hand. The room spun around them, a blur of objects running together until they were nothing but colors. "I can't _make_ you be happy, Thomas," He said, a smile breaking across his narrow, handsome, destroyed face- "But I can _hope_."

"I hope so, too," Thomas said, firmly, and reached out his hand, but then everything changed again, and he was in another room.

"Did you really love me?" Thomas asked, looking down into the shadowed chamber and realizing it was his own. "Even when you were alive?"

"I suppose we'll never know if I loved you, then," Lieutenant Courtenay said. In his bed, Thomas could see himself, asleep, with Jimmy lying next to him, his face on Thomas's chest.

"But I loved you _now_, and now is all there is," He went on, and Thomas looked away from the tableau of the sleepers- of _himself_ and Jimmy- and into the Lieutenant's face. The Lieutenant looked back at him. His eyes were no longer white, Thomas saw, but whole and luminous and filled with expression. It seemed as though he were radiating light. His wrists bore scars, as though he has once been afflicted with a variation of the stigmata, but the wounds were bloodless.

"And though the universe is very large, and we may not meet again," The Lieutenant went on, drawing one hand across Thomas's face, in a caress- "I shall think of you always- of who you are, and who you became, and what you did for me."

Thomas felt like weeping. "Don't leave," he said, catching hold of the soldier's hand. "Don't leave. I'm not ready-"

"You _are_, though," The Lieutenant said, and his eyes had grown so bright that Thomas could not look at him- "You are. I love you. Goodbye, Thomas."

The Lieutenant, his uniform shining as though it were a suit of armor, stepped down out of the air, and stood beside the bed, where Thomas and Jimmy slept. Unseen, he bent and kissed Thomas on the forehead, pushing his hair back, and Thomas felt his kiss, though he was high above his own body. "Goodbye," The Lieutenant said, rising back into the air, to face Thomas- his lips turned up into a smile- and he looked about to say something more- but he never got the chance to speak, for the light became suddenly so bright that it filled the room, and everything, and Thomas shielded his face with his arms against it- and then the light winked out, like a flame extinguished, and the Lieutenant was gone with it- borne up into the aether. "Goodbye," Thomas whispered, as he himself was pulled towards wakefulness. "Goodbye."

It was the last time Thomas ever dreamed of him.

* * *

AFTERWARDS, Thomas almost felt as though it had all been a dream: the dinner, the séance, the burning trees. Even six weeks later it had faded, imbued with only the temporary potency that a dream has upon first waking. It was too much to bear thinking of, it broke apart under the weight of time.

But the spirits- _if that was what they had indeed been,_ Thomas amended, although he remembered a time not long before when he had believed it utterly- the spirits had worked their charms upon the house. Downton was transformed- not in the _large_ ways, not really- but in a myriad of small things. It had changed in way people treated each other- the easy smiles exchanged between the staff and the family- the mood at meals in the servant's hall- the general atmosphere. Everyone seemed to have let out a great breath, and yet even with this evidence, still it all seemed as though it had been a dream- except that Thomas had come away from it all, somehow, with Jimmy.

"Of _course_ it was real!" Jimmy said to Thomas, on one of the many walks they took together.

Jimmy clutched at his temples, in apparent frustration. "_How_ you can be such a wretched skeptic, I'll never know, you wretched stubborn man," Jimmy went on, bemoaning his fate. "It's difficult to be saddled with a Doubting Thomas."

"Oh, very witty," Thomas said, as they passed the north side of the house. Jimmy stopped, raising one arm to shield his eyes, and Thomas paused with him, to admire the flowering trees.

Though the flames that had burned in them hadn't destroyed the trees, it had changed them- their flowers, once proper and white, had this year bloomed in the most brilliant shade of crimson Thomas had ever seen. They coated the new grass in a carpet of fire. Lord Grantham had instructed the groundskeeper not to touch the petals- and so there they remained, stunningly beautiful. Lady Mary had picnicked underneath the trees, drinking champagne and playing with her infant son.

"How you could doubt _this_ is beyond me," Jimmy said, meeting his eyes a bit challengingly- his normal look, always the same, and always fading abruptly into tenderness. Jimmy waved his hands at the trees in an overarching gesture, jogging backwards, with his arm outstretched, to take in the picture in all its eloquence. "How! Do! You! Explain! THIS!" Jimmy shouted at him, pointing, still running backwards, his cap falling off.

"With _science! _Thomas yelled after him. "The soil acidity or something-"

"Oh, sod off," Jimmy yelled, grabbing his cap, and then jumped, startled, because Lady Mary had come up on them without their noticing.

Jimmy held his cap to his chest. "Sorry, Mi'lady, I didn't see you there."

Thomas walked towards them. "We didn't mean to intrude, Mi'lady, we were just going for a walk-"

"Oh, it's quite alright," Lady Mary said, looking over to the trees. "I like to think the trees belong to all of us, now. They're lovely, aren't they?"

_Well, they belong to _you_, actually,_ Thomas thought. Jimmy gave him a _look_ behind Lady Mary's shoulder, as though having the exact same idea run through his head.

"Barrow," Lady Mary said, and then stopped.

"Yes, my lady?" Thomas rolled his eyes back at Jimmy, and then arranged his face into the most respectful possible expression.

But then a breeze kicked up, and blew the petals into the air, in a curving stream that reminded Thomas of cigarette smoke. The petals rained over them, dark red against a blue sky, and then the wind dropped, and all three of them were left standing quietly.

"It's not science," Jimmy said, lowly. He was speaking to Thomas, but Lady Mary glanced over at him. "I think you may be right, James," She said. "There's something of the divine about it, isn't there?"

"Yes," Jimmy said, nodding his head. "I think so. But _Mr. Barrow_ doesn't."

"That's my bedroom," Lady Mary said, turning round abruptly, and pointing with one gloved finger towards the house. She turned back to face the trees, and Thomas followed her gaze, not knowing what she was getting at.

"Sometimes, when I look out my window in the morning, I can almost see them together. Matthew and Lavinia. Mr. Crawley and Miss Swire, I mean. I catch glimpses of them sitting out here, under the trees." Lady Mary paused, taking a deep breath, her eyes looking at a point beyond the visible horizon.

"It's funny," She said, turning to Thomas- "I thought I would be jealous. But I'm not."

* * *

Thomas and Jimmy ate dinner together- it was always Thomas-and-Jimmy, now, and, though Thomas had been extremely paranoid at the beginning, no one had ever so much as commented on it. Well, O'Brien had, one morning when they'd been outside smoking- and Thomas, after lying for a few weeks, had cracked and told her everything. She was, after all, his dearest friend.

Thomas knew it was foolhardy, trusting her again, but O'Brien had suffered great torments, so she said- on what they had been she did not extrapolate- and was making every effort to do right. Often this resulted in her being very quiet- as the old adage went- keeping her mouth shut when she had nothing nice to say.

"London, tomorrow. I keep feeling like there's something I've forgotten to pack for Lady Mary," Anna was saying, worriedly.

Anna and Bates had not witnessed the fiery trees- they had been safely asleep in their home- but Anna claimed she had dreamed of fire, a cleansing fire that had spread through Downton without burning it to cinders.

"Extra set of combs?" O'Brien asked her, ticking off points on her fingers.

"No, no," Anna said.

"Two evening dresses- one with the shorter hemline, for the clubs?"

"I have those-" Anna shook her head.

Jimmy was reading _The Age of Innocence _at the table. Thomas looked over at him.

"Please," Jimmy said, looking up, "Please, _please_ tell me they end up together. This is infuriating."

Thomas smirked. "That would be giving it away," He said. They all stood as Carson left.

"I'm going to read the end," Jimmy said, flipping through the book, but Thomas knocked it shut, and Jimmy laughed.

"Is that book quite appropriate dinner reading?" Mrs. Hughes asked, looking at the title with a disapproving frown.

"Why, Mrs. Hughes," Thomas said, lighting a cigarette, "It's _The Age of Innocence, _not_ The Age of Indecency._"

Everybody laughed, even Bates, and Mrs. Hughes laughed, too, and said no more about it.

Jimmy helped himself to a cigarette out of Thomas's pocket- and Thomas noticed what an intimate gesture it was, and realized with a flash that they'd been doing that for _weeks_- he looked around, unable to help himself, waiting for somebody to point the accusatory finger. But nobody did. O'Brien was talking to Anna, and Alfred was doing a puzzle out of _Pearson's _magazine.

"Um- an _eight_ letter word meaning 'best of the best'," Alfred said, squinting at the page.

"Nicest," Anna said. "Oh, wait-"

"Doesn't fit," Alfred answered.

"Choicest," Jimmy said, and Alfred wrote it in. "That works, thank you," he said.

"I think I'm rather good at word-cross," Jimmy said, smiling at Thomas.

When people began to go to bed, Jimmy played piano, liberally borrowing tunes he had heard Fred play during the Ambassador's stay, and singing them in a voice that was softer, Thomas thought, but infinitely more lovely.

Thomas and O'Brien sat- Thomas facing towards Jimmy, instead of always away as he had before- and picked at the end of a tray of florentine biscuits that Mrs. Patmore had made for them for no specific reason.

"You're not the only one who's nicer, now, you know," Thomas said to O'Brien, indicating the tray.

"Well," O'Brien said, "I suppose you go through a certain sort of experience, and it's bound to change you."

"Here, here," Jimmy said, from the piano, though he still avoided speaking to O'Brien directly.

"In a way," Thomas said, knocking ash off of a cigarette, "I'm glad it happened."

O'Brien nodded, rising for bed. "As am I," She said. "It's better to suffer for a few days in life than spend an eternity in hellfire. Well, goodnight."

"Goodnight," Thomas said.

_"Charming_ woman," Jimmy said, after she'd walked out.

* * *

They lay in Thomas's bed, later- after everyone else was long asleep- speaking only in whispers.

"I was certain Carson had caught us out, this morning," Thomas said, speaking into the bare skin of Jimmy's throat. Jimmy, his pulse still racing from what they had done, smoothed his hands over Thomas's hair, in a gesture so soothing that Thomas could feel himself falling asleep.

"It doesn't matter," Jimmy said, sighing happily. "The old codger's gone soft. He won't say anything."

"If only that were true," Thomas replied.

"They say Lord Grantham going to let Lady Edith's married _lover_ stay with them, that Gregson fellow, while they're on holiday," Jimmy said. "I'm sure Carson can overlook us when there are such travesties being tolerated by the upstairs set."

"Don't you worry?" Thomas asked him, and he could feel Jimmy's quiet laughter in his chest.

"Not _anymore_," Jimmy said, skating his fingers along Thomas's back. "I used to, especially about what other people thought. But no. Not after everything. And- not now that I have you. You're a broody sort, you can do it all for both of us."

"Mmm. How thoughtful I must be," Thomas murmured, and kissed Jimmy's neck.

"I love you," Jimmy said, apropos of nothing- or maybe because of the kiss, Thomas couldn't be sure.

"I love you, too, Jimmy," Thomas said, holding him for a moment. "Don't forget to set the alarm tonight as you did last night, for God's sake."

"I already have done," Jimmy said, snickering. "You don't _enjoy_ our little close calls with Carson, then? I thought they'd be sure to brighten your day."

"You brighten my day enough without having the added thrill of being fired," Thomas said, smiling against Jimmy's chest.

"Let's sleep," Jimmy advised, and pulled the coverlet over them both. "Some brute has wreaked havoc with my tender person."

Thomas snorted. "You're beginning to speak like someone in one of those _novels_," He said.

"We can't behave like people in novels, though, can we?' Jimmy asked, tiredly, closing his eyes and resting against the pillow. "All those midnight trysts. Secret affairs. Forbidden love. Spirits. That sort of thing. It doesn't happen, does it?"

Thomas rested his head against Jimmy's heart. "I suppose it does happen sometimes," He conceded, feeling himself be tugged inexorably towards sleep.

"I suppose," Jimmy said, and curled into him, so that they met in an embrace- and, so embraced, they fell asleep.


End file.
